I now look at time as a distance. Am I closer to the end or the beginning? Now sometimes, this is a general thing, like am I closer to the end of the day or week, but more often than not, it is a reflection on life itself. My son was so close to the beginning of his life when it was ripped from him. 18 years is nothing in the grand scheme of things. Which begs the question, where am I in the grand scheme? Is 33 closer to the beginning or the end of my time? A few months ago, I would've instantly said the beginning. Now, I am just not so sure. Some days it feels closer to the end. Or maybe it's really that some days I just WANT it to be. Once my son became a part of my life, I never even thought of the possibility that he wouldn't be in it. Now, I have this unknown and possibly long future ahead of me, and it feels wrong. Why am I allowed 33+ years, and he wasn't? Why did I get to fall in love and share my life with someone and he didn't? Each thing I do now is overshadowed by the thought that my son will never get to do it. How does one get past that? DOES one get past that?
Time is a funny thing. I look outside and see the seasons changing. I see kids growing up and adults growing old. I know time is passing. But in a lot of ways for me, time stopped on August 3rd. When I walked in that hospital room and saw my son, I knew life was forever changed. Logically, I know that time has passed. But emotionally, I feel trapped in a time warp. Every time I close my eyes at night, I see his face. I relive that night. Each morning when I wake up, I remember he is gone. It's like an endless loop. The days pass, but I'm just not sure I really notice. They all seem the same to me now. Yes, some are better or worse than others, but that's about it. I find myself saying "What day was that?" a lot now. I've missed loved ones birthdays and anniversaries. Holidays mean nothing anymore. Time is passing all around me, but I feel left behind. My friends and family are great, and they have been endlessly supportive, but at some point, they too will move on. They will go back to their normal routines and their lives. I no longer have a normal routine or life. Now I am the crazy woman crying in her car at a stoplight. Or the weirdo getting emotional at the grocery store over a bag of cheese balls. This is my new routine. I go through life one minute at a time now. Each day is a test of my will. Can I make it through this without breaking down? What will trigger me today? What will I say if someone asks me if I have kids? This is my new life. There is the me that everyone sees. She laughs, she jokes, she goes about her business. She seems fine. Then there is the real me. The one who is fighting just to get out of bed each day. The one who struggles with things like making pancakes because it reminds her too much of him. The one who talks aloud to her dead son and begs him to come to her in her dreams.
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