Those Anniversaries You Don't Want to Celebrate

If I had known

If I had known, 

that this day would be the last -

I would have held him a little longer

I would have caressed his stubbly cheek

Stroked his smooth-as-a-baby's-bottom

shaved head

And kissed his dear, sweet face, 

one more time.

If I had known, 

that this day would be the last -

I would have given him 

all those letters and poems 

I wrote over the years,

the journal I kept of his life,

As I had planned to do that day, 

but forgot,

And told him again,

I love you, 

one more time.

If I had known, 

that this day would be the last -

I would have encouraged him more,

Nagged him less, 

prayed harder,

Spent more time with him

Celebrated his accomplishments,

Even if they were tattoos

I didn’t quite understand -

I would have hugged him a little harder

And a little longer

When we said goodbye

If I had known, 

that this day would be the last -

I would have invited more of his friends

To his surprise 30^th birthday party

Spent less time in the kitchen

More time listening

Less time talking

More time with him, 

Made sure that he knew

Without a doubt

That his momma loved him

If I had only known

written December 4, 2013

It's rough, what I wrote above on what would have been Chris' 38th birthday.  I'm not even going to try to revise and edit, as I can barely see at the moment.  I meant to post that day, but was unable to do so, for a number of reasons.

Chris' 30th birthday quilt -12/04/2005.  He loved it. When he died
his step-daughter, Emily, claimed it.  I was ok with that. :)

Eight years ago today, in the early hours of December 16, I received the phone call from my daughter in law, that my son had shot himself.  My husband and I rushed to Emanuel ICU.  I know I screamed, stomped my feet, sobbed hysterically.  I asked to see the wound.  It was incredibly tiny, and I didn't understand how he could possibly have managed to do so much damage with such a tiny hole.  We were told that there was no brain activity at all.  He was a donor; on life support until his organs could be harvested. No one else was there, and after an hour or so (I don't remember the time, just that it crawled by incredibly slowly - in my memory, it was dark for weeks) Shari and the kids arrived.  Later, we drove home in shock, and crazily, we both got ready to go to work. 

Jessica and Kailyn were awake, getting ready for school. I think that's when I called my dad and my sister, but time is all mixed up. I don't know what I was thinking . . . except that I wasn't thinking. David left, I probably drove the girls to school, and I drove myself to work. The first person I saw at work was my friend Deb, who held me as I cried. Moments later, our principal came in, and insisted that I needed to leave.  "Go to your son!" she told me, practically pushing me out the door.   

I drove home (fortunately just a mile) and called my sister again, who came to pick me up and drove me back to the hospital. I think we picked up Kelli, my niece, on the way. 

Round two of the longest, most tortuous day I've ever known, as I watched the people who loved my son come to tell him goodbye. He was kept alive all that day in order to bring the gift of hope to many others, through his beautiful blue eyes, his warm and generous heart, his fully functioning kidneys, and numerous other parts and pieces of him.  I'm proud of him, for being a donor, even while I'm still an emotional mess from him choosing to leave this world as he did.

Suicide - the emotional roller coaster it sends you on is truly inconceivable.  And, it's the worst of the worst of those "clubs you never want to join" to be tangled up with. Only those who have lost someone they love through suicide can fathom what it does to your insides.  When it's your child, the guilt overwhelms you, despite everyone's insistence that it isn't/wasn't your fault.

Chris - proudly with his new instant family -
 Shari, Kenny, Emily and Arik
Christmas 1996 

I have a love-hate relationship with December, that's probably never going to completely leave me. But, today, after I post this incredibly selfish blog, I'm planning to spend time with my son, wallowing in my grief.  I'll dig through the boxes of photos, cards, letters, poems, report cards, and get out his baby book.  I'll sob, and probably pray, and I know I'll laugh too, because he was a very funny guy. My goal, as always, is an attempt to "get it out of my system" so I can celebrate the season with my family. Because I have a fabulous husband, two precious and loving daughters, wonderful family and friends, who care deeply about me. That knowledge is what keeps me putting one foot in front of the other, trudging through December, year after year.