(respectfully edited) I went to a page on facebook …so much tragedy and despair. It made me cry for hours. I think unintentionally or maybe selfishly I have been moaning about J like a little baby. I realize how much worse things could be. Maybe I am lucky? Is this just how we all cope?
I remember in college there was a girl in a wheel chair in my philosophy class. We were talking about existentialism, destiny, fate and unfortunate events in life and she told us how lucky she felt. Her family had been hit by a drunk driver. She was paralyzed from the waist down and so lucky that she had her independence. Her brother had a severe head injury and would never be able to live on his own. She was happy, independent and felt so lucky that her parents and brother survived. I was young and stupid because at the time all I could think is “How is that lucky”????
I read some of the mom’s comments on the page and see such desperation, heartache and bewilderment. They are all at different places in their journey. It is particularly painful for me to see a mom at the beginning of this hell we call addiction. She is hopeful and naive, thinking “not my kid, we are going to get him the right help, we are going to move mountains to find a cure, my kid is going to be the exception”. She is thinking “We will be one of the lucky ones”.
Then I see a mother grieving and it pierces my heart like a knife. When my brother died, I grieved but there was also a tiny part of me that felt relief. I just thought my parent’s would no longer have to watch their son slowly kill himself with drugs and alcohol. I wouldn’t have to be so afraid all the time, and most of all my brother wouldn’t suffer anymore. Maybe we were even lucky that this nightmare had come to an end….I know that sounds terrible.
I think the epiphany I am having after reading about so many senseless deaths on that page: their is no relief. That being a mother and losing a child is very different then losing a brother or sister. For a mother there is no inkling of relief or peace, just a void that can never be filled. I can clearly remember having a mother before Steven died and having a very different mom after he died. We processed his death very differently.
My mother was just a shell of her former self. I felt tremendous guilt for being so angry at him much of the time. He took all my parents time and attention, making my mom and dad cry all the time, late night phone calls and police and lawyers and rehab and money and on and on it went. I was just SO DAMN MAD at him to the point that there was very little I liked about him. But oh how I grieved when he was gone and how MUCH I hated myself for being so mad at him.
There is no peace or relief in losing a child. How could I think that? Yes, death brings closure but it does not bring peace. I am an awful person to have thought that. I am not sure that I can look at that page for much longer. The pain is so raw, like an open wound with blood dripping from from the pages. It’s all I have thought about for days. I am them and they are me. Is there really comfort in that? I just don’t know? I am lucky my son is still alive but is he really living?
How is that lucky?