Grieving for Two

Although my husband has been gone for three years,  I am constantly brought  back to a place where I have to face his death as if it happened yesterday.  This is an unavoidable outcome when the death of a loved one is so public.  There are the yearly reminders where we sit at the site and view the memorial, listen to the politicians and others commend all those that were there that horrific morning to help.  As our memories bring tears to our eyes, the media are attempting to shoot just the right picture that will tug all the hearts.  We all know that last year,  that was my beautiful son Alex.  

It is not only those days, but the many legal things that come up.  I could be having a good day, turn on the TV to watch a poker game, and there it is!!  That day has collided into the world that I am living in now forcing me to feel the feelings, smell the smells, and hear those unbelievable words, all while the tears flow over from my eyes, down my cheeks, around the crevice of my nostril, to my lips and on my tongue, then meeting as a small creek they collect and run down my chin and to my neck.   No amount of tissues could keep this flood back.

Now, with the death of my son Alex, I find things a little confusing.  He died two weeks before the third anniversary of my husband's death.  It was Friday, January 11, 2008 that I mistakenly went into my son's room thinking that I would be waking him up for one of his many doctor's appointments.  He was sitting up in bed.  He could not lay flat due to his medical afflictions.  While he was living with me, Alex was forced to use the small single bed that we had purchased for him as a child with the up and down controls.  No matter who asked, or how nicely we asked, his wife refused to allow him to use the adjustable Queen sized Select Comfort bed that we bought for him.  OK.  I said it!  

I stepped over the small gate because he was not responding to my calls.  His mouth was opened as if he was snoring, but I could not hear any sounds.  I quickly walked closer to him. I felt his cold arms and saw his blue lips.  That was the beginning of another day that will be relived over and over in my mind.

I was like Humpty Dumpty after the death of my husband.  I did not believe that anything or anyone would be able to put me back together again.  In the beginning of this year, I felt as if some of my pieces were fitting together and that there was hope for this crazy messed up life after all.   Now,  the fragile pieces, fitting together by a thread, were being dropped from a twenty story window.  There it was for the world to see:  My heart, my soul, my life, my yesterdays, my hopes and my dreams shattered across the seas, over the mountains and to the ends of the earth.   Could this truly be happening?  

Grieving for a child is quite different from mourning the loss of a husband.  I will save the explanation of this for another day.  But, the distinctive pain completely mirrors one another.  It is not the emotional pain that I am speaking of.  No.  It is the physical pain that is associated only during these times of great loss.  First, there may be a thought or a memory that crosses through my mind.  The thought remains while my lips become numb and my face gets hot.  Then my chest is flash frozen, and my arms ache down to the fingertips.  It is seconds before my face cools, my lips awaken, and my chest slowly warms.  There are times that it absolutely takes my breath away.  I wonder if this is just me, or could this be happening to others in this position.  Now, take a deep breath.

My Wings are Broken

On January 26, 2005 at 6:00 am, my life froze in an instant and shattered leaving me with a million pieces on the floor. Those pieces will never fit back together again because the biggest and best piece of me is not here! I remember the terror that flooded my entire being when I turned on the radio and all I could hear them say was that they were "leaving the dead bodies in the train." Up to that point, I was certain that he was fine - probably out helping some other poor injured passengers to escape. Not even the seriousness in Max' voice ordering me to "Come home now, Mom" had clued me in to the seriousness of the situation. But in that moment my whole being reacted. I was frantic and somewhere deep inside my soul I knew that I would not be seeing his beautiful face again!!
That day, it was as if someone had pulled a tiny string of my life and yanked it hard and long until it was completely in a heap on the floor.
My husband Manuel D. Alcala was the author of the past 30 years of my life. He put his imprint on my soul from the day we met and continued to amaze me with his love, knowledge and happiness until he would meet his end in the Metrolink train #100 going south on his way to work, his body so mangled and destroyed that he could not be shown at his funeral.
I am making it my life's purpose to find a way that this will never happen to another person, family, life! Please, join with me to make a difference.