My journey into the bowels of hell began on Oct 25, 2010. That was the day my life (and me) forever changed. It's funny the things you remember from the worst days of your life but the one thing I remember clearly was thinking, "its too beautiful a day to die". My oldest son Christopher was driving home from his job as a teacher and traveling down a very windy narrow road. He was also driving too fast for the curves on this road. He was also very tired. It is believed he feel asleep at the wheel, but we will never know for sure. He died at the scene, but they were able to get his heart started after a while and he was medivaced to a nearby hospital. They did all they could to try and save him but finally a few doctors came into the room where we were waiting (some of my siblings and their spouses were with us by then) and said the words you only expect to hear on a TV show, "we're sorry but we did everything we could". There were other things, but the main thing was what they said at the end. We could go into his room to say goodbye (my husband and I and 2 of our kids, our youngest son was in the Marines and we had yet to tell him anything.) and then we could come out and the others could go in. I asked if they would pull the plug then and he said, "you misunderstood me, there is no plug to pull, your sons heart will simply stop in about an hour on its own." So we went in and then I told my daughter, go get the rest, there is no way I am going to leave him here. SO we stood there waiting for the inevitable end. The days and months rolled by but I couldn't for the life of me tell you what I did or said or thought on any given day. Few days stood out, one being when we found out our son was being deployed to Afghanistan, and I was actually given the opportunity to keep him from being sent overseas. Oh my God, I could keep him safe and he would not be in harms way, and just imagine the shock as my mouth said, "Ya...NO. I looked down at my mouth in shock wondering where that had come from. Then I realized why I had said it, there was no way I could tell me son that my need to keep him safe supersedes his right to follow his dream. He deployed almost 3 months after his brother died. WE also sent him to Florida on his leave before deployment so he could say goodbye to my Mom. My mother died five months and a day after my son. These are the few memories I have after my son died. A year and a few months later, I became sick with a rare autoimmune disease and my second born son is having a lot of seizures ( he was in a serious car crash the summer before we was a senior in HS and had crushed the right side of his face). On the plus side, my youngest son was coming home from the Marines. He arrived home on Oct 19 2012. SO the six that was now five of us are struggling to keep going on and now we are having to learn who exactly this young man that stands before is? He went away a boy but standing before us is a young man that we know but don't recognize, and he is clueless on how to help his brother who struggles with seizures. Trust me, it got pretty ugly for a while, until he actually saw what a seizure was and how it affected his brother. But Fate or Life is a tricky fellow with a mean streak a mile long. Two years, one month and a few days after my oldest son Christopher died, my son Stephen found his brother in the garage unresponsive and his lips were blue. He tried for 15 minutes to revive him until they police came, they tried for 10 minutes or so before the EMT's came. After about 10 minutes they were able to get a heart beat. I am not sure that was the best thing. As we sat vigil at yet another child's hospital bed a doctor came in to give me "good news" If they could get him to breathe on his own, he would be a vegetable for the rest of his life. YES, I lost it. Enough said about that, it wasn't pretty or nice. So in two years, I buried a son, sent another off to war, buried my mother and then buried another son. I am still not "over it" as some people think I should be but I am better than I was. Or am I?
For years my daughter wanted a little lap dog, instead of saying no to her, my husband said if you can afford to buy it, then you can have one. Well 4 years later with her brother Christopher's help, she had the money. Sophia Belle entered her life and stole my heart. Yes, technically she belonged to my my daughter, but Sophia followed me everywhere, she was in all aspects my dog. If it weren't for her, I don't think I would have survived all the deaths, she gave me a reason to get up every day. She saved me. On July 12, she became sick, very sick. On July 14 her red blood cells were down to 9, she was dying, she had a seizure, she didn't have the energy to walk and after a while she couldn't even wag her tail at me. So we ( I ) had to make the decision the let her go. AND as I was with my boys as they passed, I was with her holding her tight and telling her it was OK to go home. She would have been 8 on July 19 2017.
And just as I lied to my sons, I lied to her as well. IT WAS NOT OK TO LEAVE. There I have said it. But now the debilitating grief is back, I am lost without her and I still as I leave the house say, "I will be right back little bit" only to realize she won"t be here. And I feel like I am losing the last piece of Christopher since he helped pay for her and taught her how to go down stairs.
Grief really stinks and all I want to do is sleep.