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.
3 thoughts on “Stuck in My Head”
We are in a place that no one can understand-just us. I had someone tell me that I should stop feeling sorry for myself. I wanted to explain to them that it’s not about pity -it’s not about me, it’s about my beautiful daughter. It’s about her 7 year old son that now has no dad or mom. I keep my chin up, and take one minute at the time. It’s not about pity, it’s about survival in a world that’s no longer normal. -and no one understands but us. God bless you.
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God bless you, Wanda. People have no clue. They think that we should just be able to let it go… they have no idea. And you’re right…it has absolutely nothing to do with pity. It’s about the love we had for our child…and they’re no longer here for us to share that love with them. People just need to learn to not say anything. I’m so sorry for your loss.
I know exactly how you feel and what your going through. I lost my 24 year old son almost 21 months ago from an accidental overdose. This happened the day after my father passed. It still doesn’t seem real. I expect him to walk through the door at any time. It hurts too much to go back to that day. I feel like if I do I will fall into the dark abyss of misery and never come out. Losing a child, to me, is worse than losing a parent. I’ve never really grieved for my dad because losing my son has been so painful. I have to say the hurt isn’t anywhere close to what it was when I was told he was gone, but it is still there. Thank you for sharing your story I know it was difficult.