August and September are typically tough months for me, because those months mark the beginning of the end. You see, Aaron had an accident in August of 2015 that fractured his spine and shattered his heel bone. That accident was the catalyst of his relapse. When he called me to tell me what had happened, my heart sank. I was so thankful that he was ok, but my mind immediately went to pain killers. I knew that he would be given pain killers in the hospital, and I also knew that he was a recovering addict. He assured me that he would be ok….but 6 months later, heroin claimed his life.

It’s been 2 1/2 years since Aaron passed, and it has been the hardest time of my life. As I’ve said before, I never imagined that my life would take this turn, and I still find myself thinking, “This can’t be real.” But, unfortunately , it is. The one thing I’ve learned since this has happened is that we are never guaranteed another day. Some of you might say…”I know that too”…but do you really? I mean, before Aaron died, I “knew” that too….but I didn’t really know. I KNOW now, and it has changed me…altered my perspective on life, and has made me more aware of my limitations. I can now set boundaries for myself and draw the line between myself and situations that may be difficult for me. I’ve learned to say no to certain things…not to feel guilty for that and not feel the need to explain my actions to others. There are just certain things that I cannot do or expose myself to, and if anyone feels offended by that, I’ve learned to be ok with that. In a way, it’s made me more self aware and more analytical of my feelings and reactions to situations. The intense pain from losing Aaron was explained so well by my daughter…it’s suffocating. It feels as if something is holding you down and is sitting on your chest…it feels as if the grip keeps tightening, making it harder and harder to catch your breath. It is a pain that makes you want to do anything to make it stop..you wished there was something…anything that could deliver you from the suffocation. That kind of pain changes you from the inside out.

Do you know what is the hardest thing about that pain? People expect you to be emotional in the beginning. They sympathize with you and are there to offer support…for a short time. What’s the hardest is living with that pain after some time has passed. You live in your own world that few can relate to. You carry that pain deep in your heart and find it hard to share anymore, because it’s been two or three….or four years since you lost your loved one and people are just uncomfortable seeing you cry or hearing you talk about it. It’s a lonely place…feeling the need to reach out to someone….not wanting to at the same time, but just needing to tell someone that you’re struggling.

August came and went quickly…almost like a whirlwind, leaving me little time to be stuck in my head. That’s the worst for me to be most of the time…and today is one of those stuck in my head days. Thinking of Aaron today has taken me back to that day….and it’s something I can’t shake. When those days come, they are suffocating…holding on to you as if you will never break free. The wave is tall today. I close my eyes and I see his beautiful blonde hair and his sparkling blue eyes. I see the joy on his face and that contagious smile. I long to hear his voice…I long to hear him say, “I love you mom.” It just hurts so bad …

I miss you dearly my beautiful son.