Yesterday, T and I were in the car on our way to an appointment and he broke down and asked me what exactly had happened the day Andy died. He is angry with me because he feels I kept him from saying goodbye to his dad. So after he asked me, he then yelled, punched the back of the car seat and asked why I did not let him see Andy on the night he died. It was more of an angry statement than a question.
I do have guilty thoughts that arise with the what ifs and if onlys. I really did not think that Andy would die the night he went to the hospital in the ambulance. I was scared that night but in a deep distant mental fog as well.
Yesterday, at his counseling session, T wrote a letter to his dad. In it he asks his dad all sorts of questions from the deep and profound such as "why did you die?" and "Do you look different in Heaven?" to the purely childlike "Would you like to have robot body parts before you die so you'll live on? So you won't have to leave us" or "How many plants are in Heaven? Can you go to McDonalds?" But one of his most profound statements stabbed my heart to the core "I feel like I melted because daddy's gone." He wanted to share this letter with me and it is reassuring and gives me hope that he wants to share his extreme emotions with me. In these many months before, he has often tried to avoid experiencing the sadness of his grief.
Currently listening to:
silence
Dinner:
burritos & fruit
Currently reading:
How to Stop the Pain
1 Corinthians
Today grateful for:
my boys
the sound of my boys laughing
the support of others
cooler weather
life
