One Month On

Today marks the one month anniversary of my son's death. His life support was turned off on July 21st @ 8am and he eventually passed away @ around 9.50am. He was a very healthy and fit young man; a runner, a 2nd level black belt in Taekwondo, he worked out. His heart kept beating and he kept fighting for longer than they anticipated but it was a fight and a race my brave boy was not going to win this time. 

The return to work is proving harder than I imagined it would. People keep asking the innocuous question, "how are you", or "how are things". A lot of the time it's just a greeting; I'm not actually sure that some people even know about my son or what we are going through as a family. Every time it gets asked, however, I freeze. I don't know how to respond. I've started to just say, "okay", and move on quickly. I'm far from okay but my guess is most people don't really want to know. I hate it, but I get it. What really makes me angry though is the people who do know, and who keep asking. I feel no different today than I did yesterday, and will tomorrow. For the most part I just want people to leave me alone. I'm back at work, and it's a start, but I just want to sit in the corner and be ignored. 

Last week was tough as more detail about the accident came to light. We were told, when the paramedic reached into his car, he grabbed her arm. Apparently his eyes didn't open, and he didn't speak, so we assume it was a reflex action. In the four days we spent with him in ICU he would squeeze our hand whenever we held his. The doctors explained it, but it didn't make it any easier. 

None of this seems to be getting any easier. Just when you think you can breathe normally again, something happens. Some additional detail. A memory. Seeing something. Hearing something. A comment someone makes. This morning I feel physically sick in my stomach and I don't really know why. A photo of Bryn and his brother John that I have pinned in my cube, taken in happier times. His cheeky grin and mischievous eyes. A lifetime of blood, sweat and tears raising him to have his own life cut short before he even got a chance to live it. Where is the reason and the purpose in that?