It never gets easier. For some wounds, time is most definitely not a healer. In fact, time is often a cruel master.
Yesterday was the fourth anniversary of the death of Maxwell Dennis Romeo, my son.
Four years ago, I was sitting at my kitchen table wondering how I was ever going to sleep again and more importantly, what now? How do you plan for the funeral of your child? Where do you even begin?
So I drank a lot of the very fine bourbon that a friend had smuggled into the ICU of Akron General earlier in the day where I was keeping vigil. We both had assumed I would be spending long days there while Max recovered from his very extensive injuries and the bourbon was a gift to help ease the nights there.
We were so very wrong about that.
Four years ago, I was sitting at my kitchen table wondering how I was ever going to sleep again and more importantly, what now? How do you plan for the funeral of your child? Where do you even begin?
So I drank a lot of the very fine bourbon that a friend had smuggled into the ICU of Akron General earlier in the day where I was keeping vigil. We both had assumed I would be spending long days there while Max recovered from his very extensive injuries and the bourbon was a gift to help ease the nights there.
We were so very wrong about that.
"Hurry up!" I hollered from the kitchen before he left for school on the day of the accident. Not "Goodbye." Not "I love you!"
The next time I saw him he was unconscious and trapped in the twisted metal of his car.
The next time I saw him he was unconscious and trapped in the twisted metal of his car.
I went to class yesterday because I had a quiz. I had thought about emailing my professor to explain why I wouldn't be in class that day (aka, revealing my tragic backstory), but I eventually nixed that idea largely because the syllabus provides no make-up options for quizzes.
After the quiz, I went outside to cry, which smudged my makeup. I subsequently spent a considerable amount of time trying to convince myself to go back into the classroom for the lecture and lab that followed. (Eventually I did.)
While I was outside, squatting against a brick wall and sobbing quietly, a small bird flew so close to me that I could feel it in my hair. It felt to me like the bird was acknowledging my pain. Or maybe not. Perhaps it was just a weird bird acting erratically.
Nevertheless, I like my version better.
After the quiz, I went outside to cry, which smudged my makeup. I subsequently spent a considerable amount of time trying to convince myself to go back into the classroom for the lecture and lab that followed. (Eventually I did.)
While I was outside, squatting against a brick wall and sobbing quietly, a small bird flew so close to me that I could feel it in my hair. It felt to me like the bird was acknowledging my pain. Or maybe not. Perhaps it was just a weird bird acting erratically.
Nevertheless, I like my version better.
Just when I thought I would never discover another new photo of Max -- I mean, it's been four years already -- yesterday I found two of them. Photographs are like gold to a grieving mom, so finding two in one day is like winning the lottery.
Natalie was home from Kentucky this weekend for fall break (aka the shittiest time of the year.) She was planning to leave on Sunday afternoon to go back to school for Monday classes, but we talked her out of it. She pulled the "dead brother" card in emails to her professors Sunday night and left for school yesterday around the same time that I did.
Next year, we need a better plan. This was the first time in four years that I actually had to be somewhere on the anniversary, and I guess I didn't really understand how woefully unprepared I was for it.
Next year, we need a better plan. This was the first time in four years that I actually had to be somewhere on the anniversary, and I guess I didn't really understand how woefully unprepared I was for it.
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