I Love You Baby - Part 8

After Chris traveled back to Canada LC and I began to talk again about going back out to Wyoming. 

I had decided after my last phone call with Sean that I could not and would not leave him.  Only now my child was dead and there was nothing left for me anymore in Tennessee.

I couldn't adjust to the sights and sounds that made up my life in Tennessee any longer.  The sun was too bright.  The sky was too blue.  The traffic was too loud.  The people were too loud.  The trees in my yard were closing in on me.  Everything was too bright, too colorful, too loud.  Too much.   I couldn't breathe.  I couldn't think.  I couldn't function.  The world that had been my life was now intolerable. 

I didn't know where I was supposed to be during that time.  I still don't.  But sitting underneath the trees in the back yard the compass needle that was my life was spinning freely and out of control.  I did not know where I was supposed to be, or even if I was supposed to be.  I did not know anything in truth.  There was nothing left for me in Tennessee and I told LC that I would move back to Wyoming.  If nothing else the move would provide "wide open" instead of the deathly claustrophobia that was choking the life out of me.

A few days after Chris left I angrily pulled pictures off the wall and began to pack them away in a box.  I had spent months off and on since we arrived back in Tennessee buying things at yard sales to replace the things we had lost in moves from Tennessee, from Alaska, from Wyoming.  I had pulled up carpet and thousands of tack strips and nails.  Painted the inside of the house.  Helped to build shelves to hold pewter and crocks.  I stood in the spare bedroom (that my son and his wife had slept in only a few months before) of our house in Tennessee feeling helpless and lost and angry, wondering "What the hell was the point"?  What was the point of everything we had just spent months doing to regain our lives in Tennessee?  There was no answer.  No answer to those questions and no answer to every other question that burned and churned endlessly over and over again inside the exhausted and rapidly crumbling walls of my brain.

As I packed pictures of me, and my parents, and my children away in a box I broke down, inconsolable.  I could not deal with it.   In less than two years we had moved from Tennessee to Alaska to Wyoming to Tennessee and were now talking about selling and packing and moving again back to Wyoming.  I couldn't do it all again.  I couldn't.  Couldn't sell and pack and move.............not again.  I sat at the table in the yard crying - again crying.  Angry at my inability to stop crying, when I knew that crying would neither help anything nor change anything.  Angry at my inability to cope.  Angry at Chris for leaving.  Angry at their father for dishonoring his son.  Angry at Sean for leaving me.  It was all too much.  Just..........too much.

We met with a real estate agent a few days after Sean's funeral, toying with the idea of selling off the house in Tennessee.  I couldn't do it.  Couldn't consider selling it.  We had just moved back into the house 10 months before.  My son had been dead less than two weeks.  What if I sold the house, we got out to Wyoming and something happened to LC?  I would be alone and have nothing.  What if we got out to Wyoming and something happened to me?  LC would be alone and have nothing.  I did not want to stay in Tennessee at that point, was confused and broken hearted and knew that I was not able to think clearly.  I needed to be away from this place, but I was not ready to sell the house.  Not in the state I was in.  Afraid that I would make a decision under duress that I could not take back.  No.  Selling the house was not an option. No.  No.  No.  Not now.  I knew that I needed at least a year to reevaluate and regroup.

If we did not sell, then the only other option was to rent.  LC got the very good idea to try and rent the house to a law enforcement officer at a lower rent that we would normally ask for the house.  We would not have to go through a property manager (which would have been a good thing after such a negative experience our last go-around).  We would have a police vehicle parked in the driveway.  We would have someone in the house that had already been background checked.  We could help a cop out with cheaper rent for him, or for him and his family.  If he stopped paying the rent knowing that the owners were far away in Wyoming we could contact his department directly.  We would feel less worried and more confident in the safety and security of our house.  We could simply pack only what we needed, store a lot of our belongings in the large attic space above the house, keep the furniture where it was in the house and not have to go through all the selling and packing of past moves.  It was a good idea. 

LC posted fliers in police departments in our home town as well as in neighboring towns, both local and county.  Included pictures.  Listed the price.  Over the course of the next five or six weeks we thought we had it rented out three times.  One cop strung us along for a couple of weeks, ended up giving us a song and dance about getting married and then not getting married and then getting married again - about how great it was that it was furnished and then not wanting it furnished - about moving in in three weeks and then four weeks and then five.  We ended up telling him to forget it.

Another young and new officer was commuting from his parents home 40 miles round trip and loved the idea of furnished and close to work.  He loved the house, his father loved the house, they both loved the price, his mother talked him into staying at home for another year so he could save money.

And finally a young officer with a young family who thought they had their house sold and wanted to save money through lower rent payments until they had enough put aside to build their own home large enough to accommodate their growing family.  Only they didn't.  Have their house sold. 

While listening to their stories, their changed minds, their women problems and house selling problems and mother problems all I wanted to do was scream for every one of them to shut the hell up and get the hell away from me.  Just..............shut the fuck up.  I have just lost my son.  I don't want to hear it.  I don't care about your goddamn fucking problems.  I did not need this.  Neither did LC.  We did not need to have our hopes raised that we could just LEAVE and the house and belongings would be taken care of, only to be continually let down. 

Neither of us were sleeping properly.  Neither of us were eating properly.  Both of us were stressed and stretched to the limit.  Neither of us could stand the memories of my child that overwhelmed us every moment of every day that we were in the house.   Too many memories.  Too much pain.  Too many questions.  No answers.  No son....................

After many weeks of this foolishness we finally came to the realization that we would need to sign our house (again) over to a property manager (again).  Which is what we ended up doing after long conversations with the manager about our expectations, what we wanted included in the lease, what he would do and not do, and what our response would be if either the renter or the property manager did not live up to their agreements.

Through all of this I was still trying and failing to cope with the death of my oldest child.  Walking through dreaded and dark places inside my own head.  Wandering aimlessly in pain through each dark day of my life.  Stumbling through a world that seemed detached and unreal.

We sold a lot of our things.  Again.  We packed.  Again.  We gave away some things.  Again.  And then one day the packing and loading was all done, we were both exhausted physically and mentally, but as soon as we were ready, and in the middle of the afternoon, we left Tullahoma in two trucks and a U-Haul and began the journey west. 

I remember very little about the entire trip across country.  I remember dangerous drives and close calls as we drove through both St Louis and Kansas City.   As we drove precariously through St Louis I was consumed with thoughts of Sean and Jessica.  They were supposed to have gone to a conference in St Louis in June, and were both excited about their upcoming trip.  Neither had ever been, and they had planned on staying for a few days beyond the conference to explore the city.  The thought of that had greatly worried both LC and I because it could be a dangerous city for two young people who had little experience with such places.  We worried about them going..............

I remember staying in a few Motel 6's because they accept dogs.  I don't now even remember the name of the towns or even the states where we stayed overnight.

I remember an endless series of highway gas stations, and stops for coffee, and for bathroom breaks and to let Jamie walk.  I remember LC and I crying together as we walked late in the evenings around the parking lot of some motel or other in some state or other.

I remember two phones calls from Tennessee while we were on the road.  The first from the property manager letting us know that he had the house rented and that our new tenants were moving in on July 1.  The second call was from Jessica who excitedly told me that her baby was a boy.  For a second after she told me I was not certain what to say and then realized that I needed to say something.  Anything.  I tried to sound happy and told Jess what wonderful news that was.  That's great Jess.  I am so glad that you called me to let me know.  Take care of yourself.  Take care of your baby.  I love you and will talk to you soon.

I had been driving on the interstate when Jessica called and when I hung up the phone I was crying, and struggled to focus on not crying and driving safely even though I felt as though I had been hit extremely hard in the side of the head again with a wrecking ball.  My daughter-in-law was happy with the news, and I was happy that she had received good news.  She needed it and I needed it FOR her.  Anything to hold her together.  Anything to move her attention from the death of her husband and allow her to focus on her unborn child.  Anything to care about so that she did not fall into the abyss that I was free falling into (don't go there Jess).  She needed good news.

I was happy for her.  But I could not be happy for me.  I did not know how to be happy after the death of my beloved son.  It was no longer there.  No longer inside me.  I was no longer able to feel it.  And something else..............I did not know her child.  I wanted MY son.  The person I had known for 28 years.  The person that I had loved for 28 years.  I wanted my son.  I wanted him alive, smiling, working, playing basketball, watching every sport on TV that he could find, eating, playing with his dogs and my dog, healthy, strong, joking, continuing to build the life he had worked so hard to achieve.  I wanted him not to be dead.  I wanted my son.  I wanted Sean.................

I remember crying often while I was driving, and feeling constantly overwhelmed with thoughts of my child.  I felt lost.  Completely, absolutely, overwhelmingly lost. 

I remember nothing of the scenery across the country aside from flat farmland in Kansas, and the strong wind and mountains in south eastern Wyoming.  Jamie, my constant and sweet and watchful traveling companion, excitedly stood up on the console as we drove from Meeteetse to Cody, barking wildly at the first appearance of Heart Mountain across the landscape.  Did she remember where we were?  How could she?  It had been 10 months since we had last seen Heart Mountain and yet my puppy who had sat mostly quietly in the back seat of the truck through our entire journey across the country suddenly seemed to know exactly where she was................

We moved back to the same house that we had rented when we were last in Wyoming.  It is small, quiet, reasonably priced, located a few miles outside the town of Cody.  The mountains are still beautiful.  The people are still open and friendly.  The public lands are still quiet and lovely and welcoming.  It is good to be in Wyoming. 

It is a beautiful open place and here I feel at least a reprieve from the claustrophobia of a world that was closing in on me, as my heart wasted away in Tennessee.  But I no longer feel the beauty here.  I look out over beautiful every time I walk outside the front door but I see the beauty now through the clouded and horribly dark lens of severe loss. 

A few weeks after we found our way back to Wyoming I dreamed of Sean.  It was night time and we were in the suburbs somewhere - darkness, homes, residential streets, street lights, lots of trees in people's yards.  I was standing next to a small group of people who were talking but I was not engaged with them.  I looked over to my right and saw my grown son standing under a street light, illuminated in the darkness.  Next to him was a structure slightly taller than he was.  It was grey and shaped like a giant mailbox - the square sides, the rounded top, the big pull-down flap in the front.  My son was standing next to it and as I watched him standing there I knew that he had already died twice and that he was preparing to die a third time.  He turned to look at me and we stood silently looking at each other for a short while.

I looked away for a moment and when I looked back Sean was gone.  I frantically scanned the area around me but could not see him.  Walking over to the giant mailbox I stood in front of the pull-down.  It slowly fell open and as I stood beside the open space I could see Sean at the back of the mailbox.  He was laying on his side and with his back to me, and I looked at the muscles of his strong back for a moment, that were clearly outlined in the grey t-shirt that he was wearing.  He was wearing black basketball shorts with a white stripe down each side.  Typical dress for my son when he was not working.

I softly called his name.  Sean.  He partially sat up, turned to look at me and smiled.  And then slowly scooted forward until he was sitting directly in front of me at the front of the giant mailbox.  I wordlessly stretched out my arm towards him, and he grabbed my hand with both of his.  He looked at me with that beautiful open face that he had and that small wry smile he had and those shining eyes that he had and he quietly and calmly said "It'll be alright".  In that moment I woke up crying.  No.  It would not be alright.  It would never be alright.  It would never be alright.  It is the only time I have dreamt about Sean since he died..

My children were the north on my internal compass.  The loss of someone that I love so much is unbearable sometimes and every moment I am awake I can feel my internal compass spinning freely and unendingly.  No it won't be alright.

Many times every single day of my life now my brain slowly and calmly speaks quiet and sweet and gentle and sad and loving words to my son.  The words are barely a whisper.  So quiet that they are barely able to be heard even inside the confines of this mothers' tired and hurting mind.  "Sean..............my child...............Can you hear me my son?...............Do you know how much I loved you?.................How much I love you...............I miss you my child..................I love you my son.- my child - my beautiful child................I have always loved you.............I will always love you.....................Sean................My child..................Can you hear me?................."

The quiet and loving and gentle and sad song of a mother pleading for her child to hear her words and to feel her love always ends the same way.   The song inevitably changes to the screams of horror and outrage inside the same brain of the same mother who hurts beyond her ability to cope with the loss of her child. Screams so loud that they pound so loudly and so violently against the walls of her head that it feels as though it will explode.  "SEAN!!!!  WHY?????  WHY??????  NO!!!!!!!!  PLEASE NO!!!!!!!!!!!  PLEASE........DON'T BE DEAD!!!!!!!!!  COME BACK TO ME!!!!!!!!!  COME BACK TO ME GODDAMMIT!!!!  DON'T YOU BE DEAD........DON'T YOU DARE BE FUCKING DEAD!!!!!!!  SEAN..........NO!!!!!!!!!!  NO!!!!!!!!!!!"

NO.

It should have been me.  Not Sean.  It  should have been me.  Not Sean.  It should have been me not Sean it should have been me not Sean it should have been me not Sean. it should have been me not Sean it should have been me not Sean.  It - should - have - been - me - not - my - son.

LC and I have been back in Wyoming for a while now.  I don't know if I am supposed to be in Wyoming.  I don't know if I am supposed to be in Tennessee or somewhere else.  I don't know if I am supposed to be anywhere.

I apply for jobs I have no interest in.  I toyed with the idea while in Tennessee of starting my own business.  Now I toy with the same idea for the same business in Wyoming.  I don't know if I have the strength or the focus or the ability or even the will to do such a thing.  I sit here not really sure where I am supposed to be or what I am supposed to be doing.  The compass needle refuses to stop rotating, and I feel as though I am quietly and irrevocably going just a little mad.

I have not worked out since Sean died.  I cannot bring myself to get geared up, to head outside, to just do it.  I can't just do it. 

Every single moment of every single day is difficult to get through, and Thursdays are unbearable.  Sean was born on December 30 and every December 30 for the past 28 years I have joyfully spent the day consumed with thoughts of my child.  Reliving the experience of labor and delivery, and the remembrance of how he looked when I first realized that he was a boy, that he was healthy, that I had safely brought him into the world, and that he was mine.  I can still remember exactly how he looked the very first moment that I saw him.  The very first moment. 

And now I meticulously count off the weeks, remembering the Thursday that he died.  Darkly reliving that day and darkly acknowledging that my son has been dead for a week, two weeks, three weeks, seven weeks, twelve weeks, fourteen weeks, on the day I am writing this paragraph 15 weeks exactly.  Endlessly counting off each morbid weekly anniversary. 

LC is broken hearted.  He spent five years trying to find some kind of common ground with my oldest boy.  LC and Chris hit it off right from the get-go. but LC and Sean were too different from each other and these two men metaphorically circled each other whenever they were together for years, trying to figure each other out.  Not certain how to take each other or how to feel about each other.  Spending time together simply because I was their common bond.

The last time they were together was the last time LC and I saw Sean alive.  11 days before he died LC, Jessica, Sean and I ate lunch at a restaurant in Manchester and then we went to the gun range.  We spent a couple of hours at the range and every one of us shot that day.  Sean and LC went through hundreds of rounds together, and as I watched these two men talking and shooting and laughing and smiling and learning and teaching I knew.  I looked at their faces and LC was loving it.  I looked at their faces and Sean was loving it as well.  After five years they had finally found something that they could do and an enjoy together.

His stomach was bothering him.  Had been bothering him for a couple of weeks and before we went to the range we stopped at a pharmacy so that Sean could buy some Ibuprofen..............

Jessica and I talk often.  She had been in the hospital for a number of weeks, and will remain in the hospital until the baby is born.  Her son.  My son's son.  It is too soon for the baby to be born, and Jessica and the doctors are fighting hard to get the baby to stay put.  For a little while longer at least.  He is ready and wants to be born now but it will be much much too early.  This early will mean disabilities.  Perhaps death.  He has to stay inside his mother at least for a while longer.  For his sake.  For her sake.  He is all that remains of Sean.  So he has to stay inside his mother for my sake as well.

I thought back recently to the day that Sean and Jessica were married.  Jessica had just graduated from college and would be quickly starting a teaching career.  Sean had just graduated with his bachelors and was getting ready to spend another eighteen months in school to get his masters.  They were so very young.  So very beautiful.  So very happy. So enthusiastic about the lives that they would share together.  Their whole lives were happily layed out in front of them, just waiting for them both to grab a hold of it.  

Their fifth wedding anniversary was not long ago.  I sent Jessica an email on that day simply to let her know that I was thinking of her, and that my heart was with her.  There was nothing else to say.  Nothing that I could say that would make anything better or easier for her.  She was in pain and I was in pain, and it was their wedding anniversary and there was nothing else to say other than "I know".

My heart aches and my heart breaks for Jessica.  She lost her husband.  She lost the father of her child.  The house that she loved will be sold.  She will have to start all over again and rebuild her life all over again.

Sean died from an enlarged heart.  A symptom of a condition that we did not know existed and a condition that will never be identified.  He had Cardiomegaly.  Sean went to the doctor only the day before he died, was treated for an ulcer and did not have an ulcer.

I have many questions regarding my sons' death that I want answered.  Too many things that do not make sense to either me or to Sean's wife.

Sean's father never called me to find out how his own son died. 

I had planned on trying to make this blog about Sean short.  I wasn't writing a novel, I was writing a blog.  But it developed into what this looks like now and I suppose that is OK.  I had plans to include pictures of my son and I may add them later on.  But right now I cannot bring myself to go out to the barn, dig through plastic storage bins, uwrap and look at pictures of my child.

I can see Sean inside my head as a baby, as a boy, as a man.  I can picture him at so many ages and in so many places that we shared together as mother and son.  Our lives were intertwined with each other for so long, and we were bonded together. 

I can see the pictures in his home - the poster sized wedding pictures of Sean and Jessica in the hallway leading up the stairs of their home.  I can see the pictures that were used in the slide show at Sean's funeral.  I can see his beautiful face inside my head and seeing him rips my heart completely to shreds.  And so pictures will have to wait for some other time because now is not the right time.

It has taken me two months to write this blog.  Sometimes I would log in and write a few paragraphs.  Sometimes only one paragraph.  Sometimes only a sentence.  Sometimes I would log in only to realize that I could not face it in that moment, so would just log out again.

In those first moments after I answered Jessica's phone call while driving back from Manchester, and through the initial shock and the pain of Jess' news, I realized something for the very first time.  I realized that mothers unconsciously and without ever realizing it, silently pray and beg and plead every single day of their lives after they give birth to their child.  Please keep my child safe.  Please - please - don't let anything happen to him.  Keep him safe.  Please keep him safe.

One day Sean's home will be sold.  His belongings will be sold and given away.  His wife will remarry and his son will call somebody else daddy.  One day it will be as though my precious child was never even here. 

Only he was.  Here.

I get out of bed every day wondering "what the hell is the point?". I go to bed every night thinking "there WAS no point." 

I try to be OK because LC and Chris need me to be OK.  I try to be OK because they are hurting as well and I don't want to cause them more worry, more hurt, more pain.  Chris and I speak often but he is not here in front of me, and in truth I do not really know how he is doing.  I asked him to go for a physical and at least physically I know that he is fine. But my stoic and strong son has lost the only brother he ever had.  For so many years there was always just the three of us.  Just me and the boys.

The world is too dark and too hard and too painful and too sad.  I don't know what to do from here.  And so I continue to walk the stone hallways of my brain (that come from nowhere and lead to nowhere) - safe for now in the isolation inside my head. 

I miss him every moment of every day.   Sean.  My son.  My sweet child..........

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gm9kQdIFObY

The End.

I Love You Baby - Part 7

After Chris went back to Canada the next few weeks were dark weeks.  I helplessly (and without even trying to fight the process) wandered through dark places in my head that I have wandered only very few times in my life.  A place that I know exists and when I am healthy that place scares me.  When I am not healthy I embrace it, and in the weeks after my youngest child left and there was no longer the distraction of visitors delivering food and support, or a funeral, or the presence of Chris I went to that place, and it did not scare me.  The dark place inside my head comforted me and I did not want to leave it.

I walked alone through very dark unending passage-ways deep within my brain, that contain little light, stone floors and high stone walls and that have no beginning and no end.   They simply go on forever if you let them - and I let them - slowly but steadily walking down one dark hall after another not going anywhere and not getting anywhere.  

I walked the dark and deathly halls deep inside my head, watching Sean over and over again going through an autopsy.  Watching over and over as someone ripped my son to shreds.  I watched my child over and over again as he was cremated.  Researched online what happens to bones and teeth after a cremation.  Researched online every possible reason why a healthy 28 year old man could just fall down dead.  I watched him as he lay dead inside some meat locker in the morgue.  Saw him laying under the white sheet that had covering him as he was wheeled out of his home.  Saw his face beneath the sheet, dead and unseeing.  Saw him laying on the floor hour after hour, dead on the carpet in his home.  Alone.  His body slowly beginning to stiffen.  It was a bad place for my head to be in but I did not fight it.  I was in pain and embraced only more pain.

When I walked back into my house I continually saw my son in my mind as a baby, as a toddler, as a small boy. As a young boy and then a young man. As an adult. I saw his beautiful face everywhere I turned in the house and the pain of seeing him in my mind was unbearable.  I could hear his voice. His laugh. His smart-ass comments.  I could see him walking out of the bathroom. Rummaging around in the kitchen for something to eat. Playing with Jamie on the couch in the den. Sitting in the recliner watching one sport or another on TV in the den. Reaching under the Christmas tree for gifts in the living room.   The look of delight on his face when he saw all the tools we had bought him for Christmas. 

Everything reminded me of Sean.  A flyer in the mail about white water rafting was a reminder that Sean and I had talked about going white water rafting this summer.  A story about the space shuttle being moved to New York reminded me that Sean had seen the last space shuttle flight down in Florida and had spoken enthusiastically about the experience.  He didn't remember it because he was so young, but he and I had watched the space shuttle Challenger explosion on TV together.  He was little, his dad was away on exercise in Norway and I rocked with him in a rocking chair in the living room, as I enthusiastically watched the takeoff and then watched as everyone else did, horrified at the explosion and the loss of life.  My baby was already sleeping safely in my arms by the time the Challenger exploded and the astronauts were dead.  A paint commercial reminded me that Sean and I had talked about me and LC helping him to paint his house.  Every white Chevy Cavalier reminded me of the car he drove into the ground by the time he had graduated from college.  That car had over a quarter of a million miles on it.  I could not look at any young man wearing sports emblazoned t-shirts, khaki shorts and baseball caps.  They all looked like my son and whenever I saw a young man dressed like that I felt the need to throw up.  I couldn't watch any team sports on TV - I could only envision Sean standing on the sidelines closely watching his players.  I couldn't look at babies, young children, young men because I saw Sean at each age.  I couldn't look at old men.  My son would never be an old man.  I couldn't even look at mothers of young children because I knew that one day Jessica would begin her life over again without my son, and that Sean's child would one day call somebody else daddy.  That my grandchild would never know his father.

His entire life was irrevocably intertwined with mine, and there was nowhere I could look, nowhere I could run, nowhere I could turn, nowhere I could escape from that reality. 

I searched through voice mail messages desperately trying to find messages from him that I had not deleted.  There were none.  I called his cell phone number hoping to hear his voice telling me to leave him a message.  Instead of his voice I listened to a canned female voice telling me that number was no longer in service.  I already knew that his phone was no longer in service.  I was the one who had cancelled his service.  I found text messages from Sean as he watched and described the shuttle takeoff.  "Love you mucj".  The typo was his.  I still haven't deleted Sean's name from my contacts list.  I can't do it. Not now and I don't know when.

Every email account that I had, every link and site that I signed into on my computer had some variation of Sean's name and birthday as my password.  Every single one.  They still do.  His beautiful face, his beautiful life, tightly intertwined with mine.

I sat at the table in the grass in the back yard still chain smoking.  Still walking the dark halls of my mind going nowhere, but unable to stop moving.  Not wanting to leave the aloneness and darkness that was the place inside my head.  My tortured brain obsessively carried on endless and circular conversations with itself.

I was his mother.  I should have protected him because I was his mother.  I couldn't protect him from this.  I didn't know.  I didn't know.  I didn't know.  But I should have protected him.  It was my job to protect him.  I was his mother.............

Did he know what was happening to him?  Was he afraid?  Was he in pain?  Was my child afraid?  Was he in pain?  Was he afraid?

He died alone.  He died alone.  He died alone.  He died alone.  He died alone...........No-one was there for him.  No-one was there with him.  He died alone.  Lay on the floor dead.  For hours.  Alone.  Oh God!!!!!!!!!!  He died alone................

I should have found him.  I should have been the one to find him.  Not his wife.  She is too young, too pregnant, too close.......too young.  She's been through enough.  I should have found him.  I was his mother.  It was my job.  I should have found him..................I should have found him.  I should have protected him. 

I just talked to him two days before.  He was FINE!  He sounded just FINE!  28 year old men don't just die.  They DON'T JUST DIE!!  Not when they're only 28.  They don't.  They DON'T.................. 

If he had dropped to the ground earlier Jessica would have been there to help him. If he had gone to work he would have been surrounded by people who could help him.  He was always around others.  There were always people in his life.  He was alone.  He dropped dead when he was alone in the house.  A few hours either way and maybe he would still be alive.

The last time I talked to Sean we were talking about me and LC moving back to Wyoming.  Hi Babe!  What are you doing?  We talked about me leaving him again and moving back to Wyoming.  The last time I talked to my child was to see how he felt about me leaving again.  I'll give it some more thought Sean.  I love you Baby.  Our last conversation was about me leaving him.  The last time I talked to my son he knew that there was a chance I would leave again.  I'll give it some more thought.  I love you Baby.............

I should have held vigil with Sean the night he died.  Do medical examiner offices even have places where someone can stay with their dead son overnight?  Even if they didn't should I have sat outside the office holding vigil for my son?  Spend one last night with him?  He was dead.  He wouldn't know.  Did I disrespect my son by simply going home?  Did I?  Did I?  I didn't even think of it until weeks later.  Would there have been any point to sitting in a car in the parking lot of a medical examiners office while my son lay dead and alone, in a meat locker in a morgue?  God I'm sorry Sean.  I'm so sorry Baby.  I should have stayed with you.  I should have stayed.  I didn't think of it.  Everything happened so fast and I didn't think of it, and I'm so sorry.  I'm so sorry Baby.

What the hell was the point of it all?  The giving birth.  The nurturing.  The raising.  The disciplining.  The worry.  The sacrifice.  The loving.  So many hopes and dreams and aspirations for the joyful and successful and long happy life of my child.  And now he's gone.  All those years of living and loving him.  And now he's dead.  What the hell was the point???

What the hell was the point of it all?  He spent years and years in school.  Commuted 100 miles round trip to the University of Alabama in Huntsville for two years.  Commuted 90 miles round trip to MTSU in Murfreesboro for another year before finally moving up there.  Working at the same time because we could afford to pay for his tuition but not his living expense.   He worked at Burger King all the years he was first an Undeclared and then working on his Undergraduate Degree.  Commuting and working and still had time to play basketball a few days a week at the gym.  Sean finally quit work once he went back for his Graduate Degree - working too hard in school to take an outside job, receiving barely enough to live on from the college, taking out small loans to finish off his education.  He only graduated a couple of years ago and was immediately hired into a job in his field.  His career, after being in school for seemingly forever, was finally underway.  And then it wasn't.  What the hell was the point???

What the hell was the point of it all?  Sean graduated with a masters in Athletic Training and was a nationally licenced trainer.  He immediately found a good job in his field, and with his wife also working, they bought a home.  After years living in small apartments with make-shift furniture and driving a car that had over a quarter of a million miles on it.  After being in school from the time he was 3 1/2 years old, my son finally began to establish his adult life.  A wife, a baby on the way, a home, a job, new vehicles, slowly and gradually going to auctions and pulling together all the trappings of an adult life.  Sean deserved it.  He had worked hard for it.  He had sacrificed for it.  It was all falling into place the way it was supposed to.  And then it wasn't.  And then he died.  He had his whole life in front of him and then he died.  What the hell was the point???

And finally I thought selfish thoughts.  I had been one month away from my 24th birthday when my first child was born.  I am now 52 years old.  My adult life, in transition far too many times, had always had one constant.  The boys.  If I achieved nothing else in my life I had achieved the boys.  I had raised them and loved them and guided them from happy small boys to challenging adolescents to successful men.  They had always been my one constant.  I had always been theirs.  And now one of them is dead.  And the foundation that has made up my adult life has been cracked to the core and the foundation is shaky and perhaps compromised forever.  I only accomplished one really important thing in my entire life and that was to raise my boys.  And now one of them was dead. 

What the hell was the point?

I asked LC a week after Chris went back to Canada that exact question.  He looked at me and asked me "Would you rather that Sean have never been born?  That you never knew him??"  I know what the "right" answer was.  "I am glad that I knew him for as long as I knew him, and my life is richer for Sean having been in my life".  That was the right answer.  The appropriate answer.  The answer he wanted to hear.  The answer I was supposed to give.  But I didn't give it.  Because I couldn't and still can't.  Instead I said nothing..................

All the work and hoping and dreaming and sacrificing on my part.  What the hell was the point of it all?

All the work and hoping and dreaming and sacrificing on the part of my child.  What the hell was the point of it all?

Two weeks after Sean had died LC and I attended a fund raiser for Jessica and the baby that was put on by the school where Sean had worked.  It was on a weekend day and the people that Sean had worked with every day were there.  Kids dressed in the uniform tops of their particular sport and shorts on bottom.  Boys setting up tables and greeting people and pointing them in the right direction.  Boys playing music in a small band in the cafeteria.  Girls serving food.  Coaches cooking food.  Teachers greeting people and also pointing them in the right direction.  Posters and enlarged pictures of Sean posted all over the walls with signs saying "We Love You Trainer Sean".  Items that had been donated for an auction.  MTSU made a donation.  A state representative or senator or some-such-thing attended.  So many people spending time and money.  So many people trying to do the right thing and say the right thing and just show in their own way how much they cared.

As I approached the table outside the cafeteria where teachers and students were greeting attendees I abruptly turned around, dizzy, light headed, unable to face..........everybody.........everything.  Blindly I rushed down a hallway and slammed through a closed door that I could see through the windows led outside.  I couldn't breathe.  I did not want to be there.  I did not want to be anywhere.  I just wanted my son.  Sean...........  SEAN!!!  Why did you leave?????  I stood on the grass behind a building unable to do anything but stand and cry, and the world spun too quickly around me.  LC found me and pulled me close, unable to do anything aside from hold me while I cried yet one more time.

Eventually we did go into the cafeteria.  Some people knew who I was but most did not and that was OK.  We ate and then walked through the mostly empty halls of the school because I desperately needed to be away from people.  I finally looked at LC and asked him if he minded if we left.  I called Jessica outside the school and told her that we were leaving.  "I'm sorry to leave sweetheart but I have to go".  I understood the good intentions that everyone who had organized the event had.  But it was too much.  Much much too much.  At least for me.  As I walked down the hallways and out the front door I pulled a picture of my son off the wall.  It was quintessential Sean.  Quintessential athletic trainer.  A picture of him standing on the sidelines of a football game.  Him dressed in baseball cap, polo shirt emblazoned with the school's logo, khaki shorts, surrounded by the cheering throngs in the stands, looking handsome and strong and healthy.  Why Sean?  WHY??  Goddammit WHY??????  We drove towards the house before they began auctioning off the bird houses and vacuum cleaners.  

Why?

I Love You Baby - Part 6

The morning after Sean died I sat in the shade under the trees in the back yard feeling numb, in a fog, in a daze, unable to make sense of everything or anything.  My heart had been violently ripped from my body.  I couldn't breathe.  Couldn't think straight.  Every ounce of strength had left my body and every fibre of my being shook from the inside out.

As I sat under the tree I remember slowly looking around the yard in stunned amazement.  The sun was still shining.  The sky was still blue.  The trees were still rustling in the breeze.  Cars still drove by on the road.  And I was angry about that.  Angry that my son had died and the world did not pause..........not even for one second...........to acknowledge the death of this so very good man.  The world was exactly the same as it had been the day before.  Only it wasn't.

I looked down at my watch and then sat on a lawn chair by the table compulsively drinking coffee and chain smoking cigarettes, consumed with and completely overwhelmed with the knowledge that right then, right at that moment, the medical examiner was performing an autopsy on my child.  I could see it.  See it all in my head.  Could visualize the ME ripping my son to pieces.  Pulling my boy apart.  I could see it all.  I could see him lying dead on a slab in the morgue.  See him being torn apart by someone who scientifically, methodically and unfeelingly tore unknown people apart every single day of their working lives.  And now he was tearing apart my son.  Someone that I loved and cherished completely.

When LC joined me outside at the table we sat and talked and then finally (finally) we held each other and cried together for the loss of my son.  It would be the first of many many many times that we would cry together that day and every day for months, crying and desperately holding tightly together in our shared pain and anguish.

Jess' father called wanting to know if I wanted to go to the funeral home with him.  No.  What arrangements did I want?  Whatever brings Jessica some measure of piece.  I didn't care.  He was gone.  Finally and irrevocably gone.  I did not care what music they played or what pictures they displayed or what flowers they put out.  My child was dead.  My child was dead my child was dead my child was dead my child was dead my child was..........he was dead.

At some point I called Jess.  She was broken hearted but with her family.  Good that she was with people who loved and supported her.  She asked if I had pictures of Sean that she could include in a slide show at the funeral and we made arrangements to visit her that Sunday.  I told her that I would call again the next day to see how she was doing and hung up the phone.  More crying.  How much could someone cry?  I began to wonder that but as with everything else in my entire world, I had no answer.

I called Chris.  He was doing alright.  He wanted to come down for the funeral.  We made plans for his arrival on the Monday.  My child.  My youngest child.  God, I hoped that he was alright.  Please let him be alright...............

I called Sean's father again to let him know that Chris was coming down for the funeral and then waited..........he asked me again to send him an email when I found out how Sean had died. Through the pain and suffering and anguish that I felt, there was also much room for the overwhelming anger and intense disgust that I felt as I realized that my precious childs' father cared so little.  That his own father would disrespect the memory of his child so completely.  My child deserved better than that.  He deserved so much better than that.   I resolved at that moment that I would not ever speak with him again.  He was beyond contempt. 

I spent that first day alternating between crying, sleeping, staring into space, smoking, drinking coffee, trying to think straight, reliving the past few days in my mind trying to make sense of something that made no sense.  An active and healthy 28 year old man did not just fall down dead.  What?  What?  WHAT had happened to him????? 

I was still wearing pajamas later that afternoon when my friend dropped by the house.  She had four sons all around the same age as mine.  She was carrying food, handed it to LC, walked over to me and pulled me into her arms.  We both cried together and then walked outside.  She only stayed for a few minutes.  I couldn't hold myself together, couldn't talk, couldn't face anyone.  When she left I lay down on the couch in the den again crying, picturing my son sitting on the same couch laughing and playing with Jamie.  I truly felt like I was fighting a descent into despair, perhaps even madness.  But I didn't care.  He was gone.  That is all I cared about.

The next day another lady that I had known both personally and professionally came to the house to offer condolences and to bring food.  I still couldn't eat, but it was good to see her, and I was glad to not have to worry about LC and food.  She talked, I listened.  Still unable to make conversation. 

Later in the day I Googled my son's name.  I saw it.  I had not expected to see it.  My computer crashed to the floor and I blindly stormed through the house and pushed my way out the back door in tears of grief.  LC, my sweet LC, came running outside and grabbed me by the shoulders terrified for me and I fell into his arms and cried uncontrollably.  I had clicked on a link to a memorial page at the funeral home.  I was not expecting it and when I unexpectedly found the link I hit the page and there in front of me was a wedding picture of my son.  Him so young, so handsome, dressed in a tux and smiling for the camera.  Still a student and so hopeful for the future.  So young.  So damned young.  I could not stand it.  Could not stand the pain and could not bear his death.

On Sunday LC and I went to see Jess.  She was alright, so young and so vulnerable and yet so strong - surrounded by loving and supportive family, sound in the knowledge that her unborn child was doing fine, still unable to grasp the magnitude of what had happened.  I envied her that, because I could not hide from it and I desperately wished that I could.  I did not want to know that this was the end.  I did not want to understand and know that my oldest son was gone forever.  The first person I had ever ever truly and completely loved in my life. 

Jess told me on that day that Sean had wanted to be cremated.  I didn't know that.  How could I?  We had never talked together about such things.  Why would we?  He was a kid.  But it sounded like something that Sean would say and I was glad that they had discussed it together.  I wanted what Sean wanted. 

While I visited with Jessica I did most of the talking.  Going over all of the pictures I had of him and telling Jessica stories related to the pictures that she may not have known about Sean.  More crying.  God, I was sick of crying but couldn't stop.  What the hell point was there in crying?  But I couldn't stop. 

While I sat and talked with Jess, LC sat and talked with her father.  LC told Jessica's father that I had never liked open caskets and preferred to remember Sean as he was when he was alive.  That was true, and a few days later I would be demolished by decisions based on that statement, but on this day it was about telling Jessica stories about her husband when he was a boy instead of the man she had known.  Did those stories bring some semblance of peace to her?  I didn't know but I hoped so.  Did those stories bring peace for me?  No...........

Before we left Jessica on that Sunday she asked me if I wanted to spend time with Sean alone and before everyone else showed up for the funeral on Wednesday.  I told her yes, and we agreed that I would have time from 3:30pm-4pm.

The next day my youngest son arrived in Chattanooga.  He did not have a passport and could not fly, so had caught a Greyhound bus the day after I called him.  52 hours after he first climbed onto that bus I picked him up in Chatt.  I had not seen Chris in over a year and a half.  The last time we had been together my child had flown to Juneau Alaska, and we had spent almost two weeks together, he mostly doing a whole lot of eating, sleeping and fishing.  I remember kissing him on the cheek and hugging him tightly at the Juneau airport when he was getting ready to leave, knowing that he was leaving the military in only a few months, knowing that he would likely travel to Canada to spend some time with his father who he had not seen in many years but who he wanted to reconnect with, knowing that I had no idea when or where the next time would be that I would see my child.  I never imagined (and neither did he) that the next time we saw each other would be back in Tennessee for the funeral of his brother.

Chis looked exactly the same.  Still tall, still fit and strong looking.  Still shaving his head as he had done since he played football in high school, still handsome as hell.  When I saw him I rushed into his huge arms, reaching up to throw my arms around his neck.  I held him tightly, not wanting to let him go.  Not ever wanting to let him go.  It was so good to see him, and I held him tightly as though he were a lifeline.  He was.  He was mine.  He was healthy.  He was here.  He brought me the smallest semblance of comfort.  My youngest child.

Oh God.  I had thought of the two of them as "the boys" for so many years.  Uniquely themselves as individuals, but also collectively always the boys.  My two sons.  My two children.  For 26 years since Chris was born they had been "the boys".  The realization of that and the realization that everything had changed ate through my stomach.  One more sledge hammer against the side of my head.  Why????  Why the FUCK did this happen????

On the way home we all talked, quietly catching up with each other and with what had happened only a few short days before.  I couldn't help myself.  I had to keep touching his face, his strong arms, his neck, not wanting to let him go.  Needing to reassure myself that my youngest boy was OK.  I don't know if Chris minded but if he did he never said anything to me.

Late that afternoon M&M dropped by the house.  She brought deer meat, and while Chris and LC and I sat outside under the trees she took over my kitchen, cooked mashed potatoes and heated up the venison, and then the ham that was still in the refrigerator.  Sean had died on Thursday and finally on Monday I was able to eat but I could not yet eat much and nothing tasted right and I had no desire to eat, but I ate because LC was worried about me, and he did not need anything else to worry about.

The next day Chris and LC went to the gun range.  I could not go.  The last time I had seen Sean was at the gun range.  Two and a half weeks before.  Two and a half weeks before, my son had been alive, laughing, joking, talking, eating.  I could not go to the range, could not be around people, could not stand the noise, could not stand the activity, could not muster the effort or will required to spend time at the range and so LC and Chris went.  I was so glad that they did.  Some time to forget about everything for a just a while.

Later that afternoon when LC had just lay down to take a nap there was a knock on the front door.  Jamie went ballistic as she always does when someone unexpectedly invades her property.  I rushed to the door to find someone from a local flower store standing on the steps carrying a huge green plant in her arms.  When I looked at the card it told me that it was a condolence gift from a group of people that I used to work with.  I appreciated it, but when I walked back into the kitchen LC was standing there, leaning up against the counter shaking. 

He had abruptly been woken up.  As I slowly placed the plant on the kitchen table I was looking at LC's face.  Dazed.  Confused.  Angry.  Distraught.  Shaking.  Writing those words now takes me back to that moment when I looked closely for the first time since my child had died at the face of the man I loved.  We had cried many times together and alone.  LC was a wreck.  I saw it in his face.  I held him until he stopped shaking, trying to say reassuring words that I did not feel but words that I hoped would help.  I held him close and eventually I calmed him   Eventually he lay down on the bed again and I hoped that he would sleep.

Shaken as well, I walked into the living room to see my son laying on the couch with one arm across his face.  Are you alright Babe?...........Yeah.

Was he?  I didn't know.  But I did not think that he was.  How COULD he be???  How in hell could he be OK?

Chris wordlessly stood up from the couch, walked outside onto the back porch and did not come back inside for another 10 minutes.  When I looked out of the window I could see him talking to someone on the phone.  When he finally walked back into the house he looked down at me, and told me that he had just called his father.  That he had said to his dad, "Don't ever call me again.  I don't want to hear from you, I don't want to see you,  Not ever again.  Not after this".

For their entire lives as they were both growing up I had never said anything negative to the boys about their father.  When he stopped calling them, stopped wanting to see them, stopped sending them Christmas and birthday presents, stopped having any interaction with them at all I never said a word.  When they were both old enough to ask why he was not in their lives I didn't defend him but instead told the boys that I did not know.  That he had missed out on getting to know two outstanding young men, and that was HIS great loss.  That he had squandered an opportunity to be part of the lives of the only two sons he had.  Over the years they came to their own conclusions about their father, and it hurt me to realize as they got older that one day they would figure it all out. 

I didn't care what Chris' father thought or felt about the phone call from his youngest son.  As far as I was concerned he deserved it.   Every bit of it.  But it was the only time during Chris' entire visit where the wall of stoicism he had carefully constructed around him fell by the wayside.  It was fleeting.  But as we stood in the kitchen together after his phone call I saw the pain in his face.  We wordlessly hugged.  There were no words that would work for either of us at that moment, and so we just hugged.  I hugged him hard and tight and did not want to let him go.  Ever.  But of course I did and as I did I put my hand on my youngest sons' face and looked up at his hurting and handsome face.  "I really love you Babe".

Chris, LC and I sat outside under the trees for a good part of the day on Wednesday until it was time to go to the funeral home in Spring Hill.  None of us spoke throughout the trip, and as I sat in the back seat of the truck I looked out of the window seeing nothing, alternately gently touching first LC's then Chris' shoulder (more to reassure myself than either one of my men), and for some stupid, unknown reason could not get a song out of my head.  The song had nothing to do with anything but as with my trip of the previous Thursday to Spring Hill to face Sean's death, and as with the trip home later that night after speaking with Sean's father, the song played in a never-ending-loop instead my head:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8UVNT4wvIGY

Arriving right at 3:30pm we walked into the funeral home and I mentally and emotionally lost touch with Chris and LC for a while.  Without emotion acknowledging Jessica's parents, not even realizing that I was seeking out Jess.  When I saw her walking down the hallway I reached out my arms to this young woman who had experienced so much sadness and turmoil, again instantly feeling as though I were a mother to this girl that I had always enjoyed but never really known well.  Now she was a pregnant young widow.  My entire heart in that moment was with her.  My heart broke for her. 

Jess asked me if I wanted to visit with Sean and we walked down the hallway to the door of the large room where his service would take place.  We walked into the room together and I wordlessly looked around the room, searching.  She had asked me on Sunday if I wanted to spend time alone with Sean before the service and I had interpreted that to mean.........................."Jess, where's Sean?  Is he in another room?"  "Karin, he's already been cremated.". 

She may as well have punched me in the stomach.  I was physically in pain.  I felt physically sick.  I couldn't breathe.  I felt like a wrecking ball had again slammed into the side of my head.  I instantly felt a tidal wave of panic and the panic was rising to the surface so fast and so violently that it scared me.    It wouldn't stop, I couldn't breathe.  I felt as though I was going to fall, and I put my hand out for something, anything, to steady me.  I was crying and did not even realize it when I looked at her and said "I didn't know.  I didn't know".  Jessica told me that she was sorry, touched my arm and walked out of the room.  People, most of whom I didn't even know, would soon be arriving.

Now alone I walked to the front of the room and sat down on the front bench, crying.  When I finally looked up I saw Sean's Canadian flag, his state football championship ring, flowers, large pictures of my son at his wedding and when he was only three months old.  I didn't even see the urn on a shelf below the Canadian flag and did not even know that it was there until LC told me about it after the funeral. 

Shaking, I stood up unsteadily from the bench and walked towards the front of the room.  Touched the flag, touched the ring, caressed pictures of the face of my child when he was a baby and when he was a grown man.  I would never ever touch his sweet, smiling face again.  For so many years I had always thrown my arms around his neck, kissed him on the cheek and then held my hand to his cheek.  I don't know why but it was always just something that I did.  A routine of welcome and love between mother and son.  I would never see his smile or hear his laugh again.  Goddammit, I had just TALKED to him two days before he died.  He was fine!  He was FINE!!  The panic began to rise, then fall, then rise, then fall again in uncontrollable waves, and I struggled to remain calm, steady, sane.  Struggled to regain control.

I walked over to the large home-made banner hanging on the wall and began to read the different writings.  It was made by students he worked with - football players, basketball players, baseball players, volleyball players others.  We'll miss you Trainer Sean.  Trainer Sean, thanks for making me work so hard.  Trainer Sean, thanks for letting me play x-box in your office  We love you Trainer Sean.  So many similar comments from young players that he had worked with and known.  It was obvious that they had liked and respected my son, which did not surprise me.  I would have expected nothing less from my boy..................

A couple of minutes after 4pm Jessica walked back into the room and after talking briefly, she gently let me know that people were beginning to arrive.  Of course.  Must stay on schedule.

It was after the funeral that LC told me that Chris had been standing guard outside the door while I was inside, ensuring that nobody entered while I was alone.  At one point one of the funeral reps had approached him to tell him that people were beginning to filter in and that I should probably let them in the room.  He angrily looked down at the woman and in a harsh tone said "Do you wanna GIVE her a minute?!"  LC's attention was turned to Chris and the woman when he heard Chris raise his voice, and at that point he walked over to also stand guard with Chris.  The woman turned and walked away from two men who were not in the mood to have someone rush me.  It was shortly after that that Jessica entered the room.

People began to walk in.  Many many people that I had never seen before and did not know.  Many were young and I knew instinctively that they were kids that Sean had worked with.  Many were what I assumed to be teachers and coaches.  Some were friends of mine and others were friends and relatives of Jessicas. Others?  I had no idea. 

When I looked up and saw women that I had worked with in Tullahoma, and who I had become friends with over the years, it felt very good to see them.  We sat together, hugging and holding hands and quietly talking.  As people continued to arrive I had to get up and move around.  I couldn't sit.  I walked outside, wandered in the sunshine and the heat, continuing to watch so many people who had come to this place to honor my son.  I walked alone and sat on a bench under a tree away from people, and LC stood behind me unnoticed for I don't know how long.  When I finally realized that he was there I asked him to sit with me.  Only I couldn't sit any longer and again had to move.  The restless wolf, pacing back and forth and back and forth in a cage that was much too small...............

An hour of watching people arrive, quietly talking to the few people that I knew, wandering inside to watch a slide show of pictures of my child, wandering into the bathroom just to be alone for a moment, wandering outside to talk with friends and silently monitor my youngest son who unspeakingly and stoically stood beside me (Is he alright?  Please be alright.  Please be alright Chris.  I love you so much.  Please be alright I continued to whisper within the confines of my brain).  Strangers approaching me to express condolences and me forcing a thank you from my lips.  I'm so sorry.  Thank you and thank you for coming today.  I'm so sorry.  Thank you and thank you for coming today.  I'm so sorry.  Thank you and thank you for..................I was again (thankfully) numb.  What was the old song line?  I have become comfortably numb...............

By the time everyone had greeted and extended condolences and milled in the lobby and talked quietly and watched the slide show it was time to begin the service.  Jessica and her family sat to the left of the aisle and me and Chris and LC sat to the right, just like they do in a wedding.  Behind us were the few friends I had, and a room full of people that I did not know at all.  There were over a hundred people.  Testament to the sheer number of people Sean worked with, their affection and respect for him, and their desire to honor and remember my child.  Testament to the friends he had made and the life he had begun to live as an adult.  Testament to the very good man that he had become.

Prayers first and then a short speech by Jessica.  As she stepped down from the front she approached me and asked if I wanted to say anything.  I told her yes.  Short speeches by people that Sean worked with.  They reached hard, struggling but mostly failing to find personal things to say about him.  It was obvious that they were attending the funeral out of respect for Sean, but also only knew him professionally so had to reach hard to say nice things about him.  I hoped that some of his friends would stand up but they did not.  I had nothing prepared.  Had not planned on speaking.  Did not know if I was able to speak in front of the crowd, but I stood up anyway, desperately wanting this group of people to know what I knew about Sean.  He was a good trainer.  He was a good basketball player.  He was professional in how he approached his work.  But he was so much more than that and suddenly I wanted everyone in this room to know who he was.  To know what I knew about him.  To honor him.  Because he deserved to be honored.

And so I told stories of when he was a baby, a little boy, a big boy, a young man, a grown man.  Funny stories, sweet stories, touching stores, silly stories.  Stories of my sons' life.  Stories of my life with my son.  Our lives had been intertwined and bonded so tightly together for 28 years.  I have no idea how long I spoke but as I began to relate personal stories about him I was (for a while) lost in a world where there was only me and my child.  For a while there was nobody sitting in front of me.  It was just me and Sean.  Eventually I realized that I had been up there for what seemed like a long time.  It was time for me to stop talking.  I thanked everyone for being there on that day to honor my son.  And then I stepped down.

More music.  More prayers.  And then it was over.  People came over to shake my hand, express their condolences again, thanked me for sharing my stories, and I numbly shook hands and thanked people again for coming.  By the time people were beginning to filter out of the funeral home I found myself standing alone at the front of the room and I finally looked around me.  Over to my right Jessica's dad was taking down the banner.  Goodbye Trainer Sean.  We'll miss you Trainer Sean.  Thanks for being so tough on me Trainer Sean.  Thanks for making me work so hard to recover Trainer Sean.  Thanks for letting me play x-box in your office Trainer Sean.

Towards the front of the room was a set of double doors that I had not noticed before.  They were now standing wide open and people that I did not know were loading the flowers into the open back doors of a waiting van.  Canadian flag and ring and pictures were being taken away.  Evidence of my son - the last evidence of my son as known and remembered by the mass of people who had attended his funeral - was being taken away.  Clearing the room out.  Getting it ready for the next person.  For a few more moments I was mesmerized as I watched the unknown men continue to load the van, and then I turned away no longer able to watch.  I walked to the back of the funeral home in search of my son and LC.

After more hugs, more handshakes, more goodbyes we three broken hearted relatives who dearly loved Sean climbed into the truck and wordlessly headed for a restaurant to eat..................

Chris left the next day, headed back for Canada.  I stood watching him head for the ticket counter at the Nashville airport.  Watched him pick up his ticket, and then walk back towards me ready to fly away from me.  I did not want him to go.  I loved him so much, love him so much, and I did not want him to go.  He already knew that because we had talked about it at the house but he was a grown man and needed to go.  I stood in the airport terminal watching him and silently imploring him "Don't go Chris  Don't go.  I don't want you to go".  He hugged LC goodbye.  He hugged and kissed me goodbye.  "I love you Baby".  And then he was gone.  LC and I wordlessly walked out of the airport, through the parking lot and climbed back into the truck to head for home.

Chris was picked up in Fargo ND by LC's brother, who drove him to the border.  After my youngest child walked across the border he was picked up by a friend who drove him back to Edmonton.  My son made it safely home...............

I Love You Baby - Part 5

It was Thursday April 26, almost 48 hours to the minute since I had last spoken with my oldest child.  After LC picked up his truck from the shop in Manchester we headed towards home.  I was driving in front with LC following behind me.  We were only a couple of minutes from the house (just down the street, turn left, and the house was one block away) when my cell phone rang.

Without looking I dug my phone out of the pocket of my pack, looked down at the screen to see who was calling, but could not read the name on the screen in the shadows of the trees I was driving under.  I answered it anyway.   I thought that it was probably LC calling me because I had taken a different route than normal through back roads towards the house, and I assumed that he was calling to make fun of me for driving through the redneck section of town.  He would do that.

A woman said my name and she was crying and I did not recognize her voice.   "Who is this?". "It's me.  Jessica" she said through her tears.

My stomach dropped.  I knew.  I don't know how I knew but the world both sped up and slowed down at the same time and as I spoke to her I hoped that he was only hurt.  He was hurt.  He was only hurt.  I hesitated and then very slowly and very calmly asked her "Jess.................what's wrong?" 

She had come home from work, seen Sean's truck in the driveway, gone into the house and found him laying on the floor of the upstairs master bedroom.  "Karin........I'm so sorry.  Sean's dead.  I'm so sorry".

I told her that he couldn't be dead.  I had just talked to him two days ago on the phone and he was fine.  Jess had just seen him that morning and he was fine.  He was fine he was fine he was fine he was fine.

My brain was speeding........rapid fire trying to make sense of what Jessica was telling me.  Still trying to process, I suddenly realized that I was looking down at the floor board.  I looked up through the windshield and realized that I had stopped at a 4-way STOP sign.  I looked up at my rear view mirror, saw LC's truck stopped behind mine, and another truck stopped behind him.  In a rapidly developing numbness and fog, I had no idea how long I had been at the STOP sign but told Jessica that I needed to pull the truck off the road.  Stay on the line Jess, don't hang up, I just need to pull the truck off the road.  She told me OK.  Honey.........stay on the line.  OK.

Driving through the STOP sign I pulled into the long parking lot of an apartment complex on the other side of the intersection, drove down to the the large cluster of mailboxes in the corner of the lot, shut the truck down and climbed out of the truck.  I began talking to Jessica again as LC pulled up behind my truck, climbed out and walked towards me with his arms out.  I backed away from him and raised my hands in front of me, wordlessly telling him to get away from me.

"Jessica............tell me exactly what happened".........I began to frantically pace like the caged wolf I had seen at a petting zoo in Saint John, New Brunswick so many years before when my grown man Sean was only a small toddler Sean.  My sweet little child Sean. 

Jessica had said goodbye to him that morning and he was fine.  He made chili in the kitchen that morning.  He was supposed to leave for work around lunch time.  Jessica called him around 3 and he did not answer his phone.  When she arrived home close to 5pm Jessica saw Sean's truck in the driveway and thought that was strange because he was supposed to be gone.  She went into the house and found Sean lying dead on the floor upstairs in the master bedroom.  She ran to the neighbors' house for help.  He had bruises all over his body.

Bruises?  Had a stranger broken into the house and killed him?  Did he let somebody he knew into the house and that person killed him?  My brain frantically moved rapid fire from one thought to another, one question to another.

Had she called 911?  Yes.
Are you doing CPR?  No.......Karin.........I'm so sorry.  He's dead.
Where are you now?  At the neighbors house.
Do you have family with you?  My sister is with me.
What about your parents?  They're on the way.

I told Jessica that we were only a couple of minutes from the house, needed to drop off one of the trucks and we would be there just as quickly as we could get there.  Through tears she told me OK. 

Violently slamming my phone closed I looked at LC and told him "We need to go to Sean's house.  We need to go now.  Sean's dead".

Before LC could say anything or react in any way I had already climbed back into my truck and within only a minute was speeding into the driveway of our house.  LC came in behind me, wordlessly put Jamie into the house, walked outside and looked at me.  "Did you say that Sean was DEAD?".  "Yes.  We have to go.  Right now". 

It would be two weeks before I finally realized just how abruptly I had broken the news to LC.  The way I told him was horrible and it breaks my heart even now to remember how I told him.  He understands my abruptness and so do I.  But it breaks my heart anyway.

We wordlessly drove to a gas station on the main street in Tullahoma to fill the truck up with gas.  While LC did that I paced the parking lot talking to Jessica again.  My heart at that moment was with this young woman.  The woman who had miscarried their baby late last Fall.  The woman who had just lost her husband.  The woman who had found her husband dead.  The woman who was now carrying their unborn child in what was classified as a high-risk pregnancy. 

Were her parents there yet?  Not yet but they were on the way.

We'll be there just as soon as we can Jess.  Stay with the neighbors.  Stay with family.  Don't be alone.  We'll be there as soon as we can.

I called her one more time during the 90 minute trip.  Her parents were there.  She was at the neighbors house.  She could not go home.  The police had the entire house roped off.

LC and I wordlessly drove the entire 90 minute trip.  I don't remember any of the trip.  I didn't cry.  I didn't feel anything.  Three words played continually, and endlessly, and mindlessly in my brain during the entire trip.  Not my son.  Not my son.  Not my son.  Not my son.  Not my son.  Not my son.  Not my son.  Not my son.  Not my son.  In an endless loop......................

As we pulled off I-65 and were only a few minutes from my son's house I came to an instant realization that scared me.  It was the realization that for the last 90 minutes I had been wearing numbing, emotion-protecting armor.  It was the realization that at that very moment the smallest of cracks had suddenly developed in the armor.  The realization that within the next couple of minutes that small crack would completely open up.  That there would be no more protection.  That I was about to walk through the doors into hell.....................

We turned onto Sean's street, drove half way down the road and the first thing I saw was the ambulance.  And then police vehicles.  And then the yellow police tape encircling the yard and the house.  The random men (some in uniform, some not) standing in the yard and the three men in EMT uniforms sitting on the tailgate of Sean's truck in the driveway.  Jessica's father and Gizmo (one of Sean and Jess' little dogs) standing on the sidewalk outside the neighbors' house.  Random residents on the street standing around and looking in the direction of the house.

LC stopped the truck for a moment, trying to decide where to park, and as he pulled to a stop I jumped out of the truck.  I ran across the street to Jess' dad, looked at him, and flew into his arms, both of us immediately crying.  We held each other tight, desperately in shock and grief and desperately trying to gather strength from each other.  Eventually I pulled away from him and asked him what he knew.  He didn't know anything beyond what Jessica had already told me.

I looked over at Sean's house, saw LC wordlessly pass by me on the way to the house, and I called his name.  When he turned to look at me I angrily  told him "I want to see him".  He didn't say a word.   He just stood for a few moments with a look on his face of.........what?  Pain?  Anguish?  The knowledge that I would not be able to see my child?  All of the above?  I didn't know, but again forcefully restated "I want to see him".  He wordlessly turned and walked towards the officers in the yard.

I turned back to Jess' father and asked where Jessica was.  In the neighbors house.  Consumed with my own growing pain I again felt extreme empathy for this young girl.  God - she had been through so much.  Too much.  Unbearably much. 

Before I headed into the neighbors' house LC walked back over to me.  He had told the EMT's sitting on the tailgate of Sean's truck to have some respect for the dead man who was still lying on the floor in the bedroom of his house, and the man's mother who was standing right over there, and get off the tailgate of Sean's truck.  He  then introduced himself to the officers milling around outside Sean's house, told them that he was a retired officer and asked if there was any sign of forced entry.  The officers told him no.  They could not tell him much beyond that, but that at least was new information and pushed one possibility out of the possible.  I thanked LC for the information.  And thanked him for telling disrespectful assholes to get off my boys' truck.  I turned away from LC and headed towards my sons' wife.

I walked into the house, nodded to the homeowners without words and without even really seeing them, and walked over to Jessica who was sitting on the couch surrounded by her mother and sister.  I acknowledged the family without a word and without really seeing them either, Jessica stood up from the couch and wordlessly walked into my arms and we both cried together.  I held her tight and stroked her long red hair, much as a mother would hold a daughter.  She and I had always just been polite to each other.  We did not really know each other all that well, truthfully did not have a lot in common with each other.  But my son loved her and that had always been good enough.  But in that moment all of my heart was with her, and we cried together in each other's arms.  Two women bonded together in both our mutual agony and our mutual love for one man

We talked briefly while we sat on the couch together, holding hands and in shock, not believing that the unthinkable had happened.  I cried again.  I talked briefly with Jess' mother but don't remember what I said.  She had her mother, sister, neighbors caring for her, and unable to sit down for long I gently told Jessica that I was going back outside.

I walked outside and instantly leaned against somebodys' car to cry.  I don't know whose car it was.  Probably the neighbors.  When I was done I looked around me.  Neighbors still standing in their yards and on the sidewalk curiously watching the scene around us.  My brain silently screamed for them to "get the fuck away".  EMT's and unformed police and plain clothes police, somebody from the coroners office all standing around while other police continued with their work inside Sean's house.  My brain also screamed for THEM to "get the fuck away".  LC standing on the side of the road wordlessly watching me. For a moment we stood silently looking at each other.  There were no tears but the pain in his face was unbearable. 

I couldn't reach out to him.  I trusted him more than anyone else in the world and I knew that if I allowed him to hold me I would not be able to maintain any kind of control at all.  I would be lost in despair.  I couldn't hide any of it from him.  I wouldn't be able to hide it from myself.  And so I could not go to him.  Not yet.  I had to call Chris.  And Sean's father. 

I called Chris.  I broke the news to him.  I told him everything I knew which was not much and not enough.  I asked him for his father's phone number.  Part way through my call to my youngest child I could not hold it together and handed the phone to LC until I could regain my composure, and then I told Chris that I was calling his dad and that I would call him right back.  When I hung up the phone my legs were weak and I knew that if I did not quickly sit down that I would fall down.  The front lawn of the neighbors' house would do.  Sitting.  Crying.  Crying.  Crying.  Too much crying.  Only the start of the crying.

When I called Sean's father I listened to a voice that I had not heard in 15 or more years tell me that he was sorry he had missed my call but if I left a message he would call me back as soon as possible.  I gave my name.  I gave my cell phone number and then repeated it again because I realized that I was speaking too quickly and that he might not have gotten all of the number. 

Please call me back as soon as you get this message.  It's an emergency..............................

After leaving a message for Sean's father I called Chris back.  He knew.  Now I needed to know that he was OK.  He was so far away from me.  Alone.  He stoically, in typical Chris fashion, assured me that he was alright.  He wanted to come down to see me.  To be there for the funeral.  I told him that I would call him the next day - sooner if I found out anything more.  And then I said the same words to Chris that were my last words to Sean.  The same words I always said to both of my boys whenever I said goodbye to them.  

I love you Baby.

Someone from the medical examiner's office came up to me, expressed condolences, handed me his card.  LC approached me and suggested that I go back into the neighbor's house.  I did not want to and I stood alone in the yard not knowing what to do next, what to say next, what to feel next.  The detective in charge of the case came up to me, expressed condolences, handed me his card.  And as I answered his few brief questions through tears, trying desperately but mostly unsuccessfully to think straight, it all finally came crashing down and I stopped crying. 

I had been certain that I would not be able to see my son while the police were inside the house conducting their investigation.  But it had never occurred to me that I would not be able to see him once they were done.  I wanted to see my son.  My boy.  My child.  My...........son.  I desperately wanted to see him.  It had never occurred to me that I wouldn't be able to see him.  Not once they were done whatever they had to do.  It never occurred to me.  I had been operating under that assumption ever since we got to the house.  The detective told me that I would not be able to see him.

As I was still talking to the detective they wheeled my child out of his house.  The top half of the gurney was sitting at a 45 degree angle and he was covered with a white sheet.  It would be two weeks before I questioned why he was upright and not laying flat.  I already knew the answer as soon as the question was raised in my mind but it took two weeks....................

I watched them wheel Sean out.  Watched as they loaded him into the ambulance.  Watched as the ambulance drove down the street, turned around and watched as it drove by the house again before disappearing from sight.  I turned and asked LC why I couldn't see Sean.  Investigation.  Evidence.  Karin..........you didn't want to see him.  Don't tell me what I want!!!!!!!  Why didn't you TELL me????????  To this day I don't remember if he answered me.

Everyone left.  Still standing on the neighbor's lawn I looked up and down the road and saw that people were beginning to filter back into their homes.  The show was over.

Jessica's parents and sister and I all walked with Jess back into her home, people alternating at her side because she was in shock, shaky, broken hearted, pregnant.   When we walked into the house I asked Jessica exactly where she had found Sean.  With LC beside me I climbed the stairs, walked down the hallway, stood at the doorway of the master bedroom and looked down at the carpeted place in the room where my son had died.

There was nothing.  Just carpet.  I knew that Sean had not been bleeding, that there was no obvious evidence at the scene to indicate cause of death.  I knew that.  But to see the carpet looking so normal, the entire bedroom looking so normal was completely disorienting anyway.   I walked into the room and sat on the edge of the bed looking down at the carpet directly in front of me where my son had laid, trying desperately to make sense of something, anything.  LC sat on the edge of the bed beside me and as I continued to look down at the carpet it hit me.  Hard. 

Without looking at LC I calmly said "he died alone".  He died alone..............he died and lay on the floor alone...........for hours.  Alone.  

Alone. 

I ran that morning, grocery shopped.  Ran.  Shopped.  While my son lay dead on the floor in his home.  I felt like a wrecking ball had slammed into the side of my head.

Jessica's family grabbed clothes, other belongings she needed, and carefully loaded her into the car so that she could stay with them in Murfreesboro.  Before she left I hugged her close, stroked her hair, kissed her on top of her head, told her I would call her in the morning.  I climbed into the truck and LC wordlessly began to drive the 90 minute drive back to Tullahoma. 

On the way home my ex-husband and Sean's father finally called me back and I asked LC to pull the truck over in a parking lot so that I could pace.  He already knew.  He had already talked to Chris.  I told him everything that I could tell him, everything that I knew.  Waited for him to say that he would be coming down for the funeral.  He asked me to send him an email when I knew the cause of death.

When I hung up the phone I felt like I had been slammed in the side of the head with a wrecking ball.  Again.  I stood in the empty parking lot in the dark for a minute feeling stunned and completely empty, unable to breathe, unable to think, unsure of what to do next.  Unable for a brief minute to even get my feet to work.  I finally turned and climbed back into the truck.  For the second time that day words repeated themselves in my brain, over and over and over again in a seemingly endless loop.

Send me an email.  Send me an email.  Send me an email.  Send me an email.  Send me an email.  Send me an email.  Send me an email...........................