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A Mini-Nuclear Breakdown

on 16 June, 2018

So, I’ve been humming along seemingly okay when out of the blue, something will make me – once again – realize that my sweet son isn’t upstairs with his headset on. He is dead. Really and truly gone from this world. It just seems so much easier to pretend.

But then I am watching this series on television and up pops a new character played by a familiar actor in another series that Streeter and I binge-watched not all that long ago and my first reaction is to shout out to him to come take a look.

Then it hits me, before I utter a sound, I know that there is no one upstairs. And that IMG_1887what remains of my darling boy is a container smaller than a shoe box and he is never coming back to me. He will never again hug or kiss me, roll his eyes over some dumb thing I might have said or have him cook for me, as he was a blossoming chef. Gone are the moments of sharing trivia and bad jokes and all of our adventures that we just hadn’t had time to take.

And then my chest gets tight and it feels like I can’t breathe and I pray for my end. Life is just not turning out the way I thought it would. And I guess that for everything that I have received, it has taken 150% more than when it is gone. Everything good in my life has come with difficulty and pain and frustration and heartache. Only this time it didn’t end with the thing that I wanted, this time it was just the beginning of the end.

Why did this happen? Why didn’t I see the warning signs? Why couldn’t he talk to me? What the hell was so fucking bad that the only option he saw was to end his life? Why wasn’t I paying attention?

I miss him so much that it hurts to breathe. Why didn’t I see?

Streeter's Mom Final


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