In An Instant - Life Changed Forever

In an instant, life changed forever.  I keep saying it over and over.  I am not sure what "instant" I am talking about.  Is it the instant my son took his last breath?  Is it the instant he fell asleep to never awake again?  Is it the instant I closed the door leaving him at daycare that morning as he cried?  Is it the instant that my poor husband had to tell me over the phone that Anderson had died?  Or, is it the instant I heard those words and fell to the floor screaming in the middle of my office?  Is it the instant I first saw his lifeless body?  Or maybe it is the instant I had to kiss his little head goodbye as they took him from me wrapped in a blanket?  I really don't know, I just know forever I am changed.  Somehow, some way, forever I will be a mother in mourning.  I don't see that EVER changing - I will forever mourn the loss of my little boy.

I could never predict how profoundly devastating this whole thing would be.  I just can't fathom the rest of my life remembering this sweet happy little boy who is no longer going to grow with us.  I keep hearing it will get easier and honestly, I just can't imagine it getting easier.  I can't imagine a day without a gut wrenching sadness in my inner core.  I can't imagine a day without tears.  It seems impossible, yet I do hope it is true.

I also could never predict just how grateful we would be for family and friends.  People have been so amazing, coming to our family's aid at this horrible time.  Meals, offers of help, and so many kind words have been a saving grace.

I honestly don't know what life holds for the future.  I am taking it one day at a time, sometimes one hour at a time.  I am learning a lot about life, loss, sadness, and priorities along the way.  We were told it will never be normal again - or more accurately, we just will need time to find a new normal.  I can't imagine liking any new normal.

There are things I have become amazingly grateful for along the way:

- My two children - they have been amazing, honest, loving, sad and the rock that has kept us going forward as a family.
- I am not alone.  It has been a rough few years for a variety of reasons.  I think if one listed some of the major adult traumas one could encounter I have experienced many of them.  I can't begin to explain.  Often it is so hard when the chips are down to feel alone - and many times I did.  This whole experience has shown me otherwise.  It is so difficult to explain, but so true.
- I have learned a lot these past 6 months that served me well.  Things impacting my life drove me to seek out help in a variety of forums these past 6 months.  The tools I have learned helped tremendously particularly in the first two weeks following Anderson's death.  Now if only I could continue to employ them.
- I let people help.  That has been something I have never been able to do easily.  In the past few weeks I have let people help, and at times it has saved us.

I don't know where I go from here.  There are plans for me to train to do a race as a memorial for Anderson.  I need to get off my butt and do something about it though.  I hope to make something positive come of all of this - just don't know where or what that is, in its entirety, yet. 

If you pass me on the street I will say I am ok, will smile even.  It is odd that it is strangers or mere acquaintances that seem to make me cry.  The random sales clerk that asks me if my three year old is my only child, the garden department manager making small talk that asks me about my garden project (with my sister's help, or perhaps just all her hard work, we have constructed a memorial garden for Anderson), or the stranger in my daughter's school office carrying an 18 month old boy in his jammies - those cause me to break down.  It is all so confusing, so gut wrenching, so agonizing - and I need to put this energy somewhere.

For now I really just wish I could pinpoint that "instant."

I miss you more than words can explain Bud-Bud.