If you had told me 2 years ago that 25 months into losing my son to suicide I would still feel this lost, still feel this much agony, that it would still hurt this much....I don't think I would have believed you. I'm resilient--there's nothing in this life that I haven't gotten through, and I have had a fairly difficult life. But this? I can't get through this. There is no through, there is only here in the present, where he does not and will never again exist.
People ask me often if things have gotten "easier" with time and the truth is no, everything about life has gotten infinitely harder since the day Aiden left this world. I wouldn't dare to call what I am doing right now living. Surviving? Barely. But living? I don't know how to do that anymore. Everything feels pointless and empty. Things that used to bring me joy feel like a chore. I know this is functional depression at its worst, and sometimes the thought of existing like this for decades more...it is agonizing. I don't want to be here, but I cannot leave. The paradox of having a child that is a box of ashes. There are only two things in this world I want more than anything else: to go back to 12/22/21 and change the outcome of that night; and to be ashes in a box myself.
"I don't think we talk enough about how undone we become in the valley of grief. Or how enormously we must stretch just to fit ourselves into some kind of a new normal and dare to call it life again."
No comments:
Post a Comment