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Join me in figuring out "what now?"

Grieving is Hard Work

on 15 April, 2018

For the second day in a row, I have spent every second alone. Even though I know that people cannot just drop their lives and rush off to support me. Especially when I’ve intentionally secluded myself…. but I suppose I wished that I had someone reach out. My son’s best friend has been wonderful in attempting to help me, but that’s a heavy burden to put on the shoulders of a 21 year old young man also attempting to deal with what I think is his first hand knowledge of death.

Even my son’s father is not understanding in the least. His last comment to me was something along the lines of “I thought the hospital was supposed to fix you”. Perhaps I should be thinking of him as well, but Streeter was my child, my best friend, my constant companion. We had all of these inside jokes and history. I had so much more to give to him and share with him.

IMG_2170

His Grandmother’s Funeral… Grandma loved blue, so he picked it out just for her.

I can’t keep myself moving in a single direction. So unlike me. I can’t think and I can’t keep my thoughts moving in a straight line. Right now I have but one goal and that is to raise enough money to get Streeter’s ashes to Alaska. After that, who knows. I am guessing that I will eventually have to go back to work… well, “eventually” seems a misnomer, seems I should have gone back to work months ago. Everything seems to be hanging by a thread.

I keep vacillating between selling the house and everything in that reminds me of my sweet baby boy. A clean slate, so to speak.

But then I start looking at the sheer amount of ‘stuff’ that he collected and simply could not bring myself to part with a single piece that meant so much to him. So many memories in the pieces he kept. And just the sheer amount of work that will be involved in looking, touching and assessing the personal value of each item. I can’t even begin to imagine how I can let go of even the smallest objects, let along let complete strangers paw through his prized collections.

On top of this, of course, is his day to day possessions, his clothes, shoes, toothbrush. I don’t even want to think about taking care of his room – the room he died in. I am staunchly on the fence about a clean sweep of the room, turning into yet another quest room or an extended craft room and restoring it back to the wonderful little ‘pad’ that we spend so much time and energy not that long ago. One of my therapists (yes, therapists with an ‘s’) tells me not to think about it right now. But how can I not?

Oh God, I think I need a nap and a reprieve from thinking. About anything and everything.

MacCupcake

Streeter's Mom


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