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Its The Little Things

on 8 July, 2018

Sunday mornings. Breakfast made for me by Streeter. He loved to cook. He was really getting to be a good cook. Find recipes on the ‘net and he’d try them out. Especially love doing fun things with eggs.

Headache big time this morning. Keeping me in bed and watching old movies in the dark. This would be the time that he bring his laptop and come in and crawl in bed with me. Watching the movie, talking to me, and playing or reading on his computer.

Its those little things that I miss. They way he would just know what to do to make me feel better. He would give me these ‘headache kisses’ where he would very gently kiss me on the forehead between my eyes and then one on the lips. The way he was just ‘there’, you know, I could hear him breathing and an occasional laugh and he would show me something funny on Instagram or Imgur, usually about dogs. I loved his laugh. He had the most genuine laugh.

I thought he was happy. Satisfied. Hopeful.I don’t know what happened. Or what really was going on. And why he thought he couldn’t talk to me about it.

My life is changing so much. I am usually okay with change, adapting, moving forward. But this, this is something else. I can’t bear to think about that all that is left of him is in a small box sitting on the little sofa in my room. Most days I can’t imagine that he is never going to just be there, like he always was.

Always there. Now, forever gone.

I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I find it unfathomable to think about moving forward. Each day being more difficult or painful than the last.

I’m too old to do anything now. I’mean, what’s the point? I’m alone with no future. I used to dream about more traveling with him. Seeing him go forth in the world as best as he wanted. To see him meeting his special someone, falling in love, maybe grandhilcren. I have lived for him for so many years, I don’t know who I am or what I am supposed to do with a life that has no meaning.

I mean, what’s the point? What’s the point NOW?

I am meeting a lot of people through the groups I attend. But no one is in my situation of being the person who has lost their only child to suicide. They have other children or siblings or they’re actually young enough to start life anew.

I foresee the remainder of my life much like my mother’s. Living in the square space of half a room in a nursing home sitting in a chair and watching television for the rest of her life. Rarely any visitors, no friends, nothing to do and no one to say it to. Sit there until she died. She wasn’t much older than I am when she went into the nursing home. Well, she actually went there for therapy for a badly injured ankle, but just didn’t have any willpower to get better or even come home.

I feel like that now. We’re in the midst of selling off everything and anything that ever held any pleasure or memory or hope. And it seems the perfect progression that started with them carrying my son’s body out to an ambulance.

I don’t know how to get better or have hope or even allow myself to dream. Hope. Wish.

Streeter's Mom Final


One response to “Its The Little Things

  1. geoffmitch says:

    Is there any way to reach out to piers or friend of his to lagniappe any insight? And as far as the “now what” and destiny aspects of what the future hold, I can’t imagine the loss and devestation others and you face. Maybe they have distractions but the loss remains.

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