Maybe This Begins the Anger Phase

I haven't written much as of late - and the raw emotion I am writing here is probably is exactly why.  Honestly, it has been such a whirlwind of emotions, I just don't even know how to formulate a post.  I have been searching - desperately searching - for a way to make this all sensible, find a purpose to all of this, find something to take away.  But many times, at the end of the day, it just isn't there, and I feel like I have nothing profound to say, nothing to share I have learned, nothing to put forth about moving forward.  It feels like there is always a setback.  Maybe I expect too much.

But tonight I may have felt a glimpse of the anger "they" say will come as I move through the stages of grief.  I returned to work today.  It was pretty uneventful.  I think I still feel the shame parents feel when they have lost a child.  No one can alleviate it, as irrational as it may sound because, frankly, it is OUR JOB to protect our kids.  And, as irrational as it sounds, I couldn't.  My boy died, I wasn't there, I didn't save him, and he is gone forever.  I am angry with myself.

But, that is not new.  As I have been progressing through this I have been reconnecting with my spiritual self. It is selfish really.  I need to believe he is still there, somewhere, somehow.  I need to believe he is watching over us, and that at a time (which I have no control over) we will be reunited and I will once again be able to hold his hand, stroke his hair, hear his voice (I am finding I am terrified I am forgetting his voice).  So I have been searching.  I found a fine church (I think) and some fine people who are wonderful, and believe that somehow God will enlighten me in all of this.  Not in some cult way, but real, genuine, people who have full lives and still have a strong spiritual self.

But tonight I came home and once again immersed myself in a whirlwind of obligations - organizing the foundation, coordinating my meetings with people who have graciously offered to help, making lists of tasks for an auction event, trying to figure out how to train for my race which will serve as a fundraiser, cultivating my Thirty-One business to provide funding for charity, and caring for my children.  When I finally took a moment to sit down and take a breath I burst into tears.  Every part of me angrily asked God how he could do this, how could he take him, and frankly to demand he bring him back to me.  I miss Anderson so much.  I am just so overwhelmed by the desperate need, still, to figure out how to fix this.  I can't fix it, yet when I stop, breathe, and just exist my instinct is a wave of panic that time is running out on how to "undo" this.

Sleep, most nights, eludes me.  I wake after an hour or two of sleep and lay awake desperately searching.  Searching every memory struggling not to forget how his little chubby hands felt.  Struggling to remember the sound of his demand "Mama" and "milk."  Struggling to remember that sound he made when he sucked on his pacifier and gazed into my eyes as he fell asleep.  Struggling to remember the laugh behind the pacifier as he reached up hoping I would playfully bite at his fingers.  I think I am starting to forget, and it terrifies me.  I lay there for hours, hoping to sleep, but finding it impossible.

During the day I am consumed with making some difference from all of this.  I know part of it at least is a desperate attempt to control something in this whole scenario.  But when I get tired I get terrified.  What if I fail, what if I fail him.  What if everything I am trying to do doesn't happen, or isn't perfect, or doesn't go as well as I hope.  I will fail him again.  That scares me.

Everything scares me.  I haven't written in a while, because, well, I am scared.  That is what it all comes down to I think.  Afraid to put it out there how I may fail, again.  It is impossible in this situation not to feel that way I think.  It is "normal."  Actually, nothing about this is "normal."  Hopefully I will be brave enough to continue on with all of this, keep working, keep trying, and keep writing, because, maybe, just maybe, putting it all out here will let me sleep tonight.  And hopefully, just hopefully, I can help one family, one mother, one child, at some point before I see Anderson again.  So no pretty pictures here - just one big pure emotion dump.