We went to choose a headstone for Bryn this weekend. As I write that I ask myself, "how is that even possible?". Honestly, I don't know. I really don't know how we continue to get out of bed in the morning, walk the dogs, have breakfast, shower, get dressed, go to work ... and just continue living day after day. Many times I've not wanted to and many times I have thought, even if only briefly, how easy it would be to just stop. The drive home from work is the danger time for me; the end of yet another day of meaningless meetings, empty emails, contemptible conversations and worthless work.
Having such thoughts of how easy it would be to drive into a bridge support and stop the monotony is frightening. Don't get me wrong, I work for a very employee focused company, doing a job that I used to enjoy very much and actually see value in. It's difficult to find meaning in many things after your son is killed by a horse on the road. Still looking for a meaning.
We also got to meet another couple this weekend who's son died three years ago. Their son was the victim of a fatal accident too; he was shot, in the head, by another teenager who was messing around with a loaded gun. The couple clearly loved their son, and three years on, the pain is still very evident and the emotion still very raw. It seems there is only heartache in store for us now.
The headstone we selected for Bryn is quite simple. He would have approved, I'm sure. They produced a computer generated image for us so we could see how it will look. We got to see Bryn's name engraved on his soon to be constructed headstone. The headstone, they told us, has a lifetime warranty. Yet one more reminder of how permanent this sentence is.
Yes, I ask myself countless times every day, "How is this even possible?"
Monday, 5 March 2018
Time passing and standing still
It's been 7 months since Bryn died. We had his 18th birthday in December; his first birthday without him. We also had Christmas and New Year's. The year of firsts.
It seems unbelievable that it happened 7 months ago; to us it still feels like only yesterday. I still remember the police visit and them sitting in the drive while we left for the hospital. It seemed odd. I remember the drive to the hospital, wanting to get there as fast as possible but not wanting to crash on the way. We still had hope he would be okay then. I recall the foreshadowing of being led into the private room and my wife's screams as the doctor broke the news. Looking back, after that, we were remarkably calm at seeing Bryn and spending our last few days with him before his life support was turned off. We were there with him, but in a different place entirely. Our brains had shut down to protect us. We were in this place that Clara Hinton calls, the Foggy Abyss. I have no idea how we survived it.
And ever since, seven months on to this point, we are still surviving but I still don't know how. Some days we do actually get through now without breaking down, a sign we are absorbing the shock perhaps. Those days are rare. Most days, as I am now, I am fighting to breathe and to keep the tears inside. I know I will eventually fail and tears will flow. It's a never ending fight that I know I will lose and it's exhausting.
This weekend we are to go to choose a headstone for Bryn. One more undeniable reminder this is real, and this is permanent. It's difficult, some days, to just keep going and not to give in to the desire to join him, wherever he may be.
It seems unbelievable that it happened 7 months ago; to us it still feels like only yesterday. I still remember the police visit and them sitting in the drive while we left for the hospital. It seemed odd. I remember the drive to the hospital, wanting to get there as fast as possible but not wanting to crash on the way. We still had hope he would be okay then. I recall the foreshadowing of being led into the private room and my wife's screams as the doctor broke the news. Looking back, after that, we were remarkably calm at seeing Bryn and spending our last few days with him before his life support was turned off. We were there with him, but in a different place entirely. Our brains had shut down to protect us. We were in this place that Clara Hinton calls, the Foggy Abyss. I have no idea how we survived it.
And ever since, seven months on to this point, we are still surviving but I still don't know how. Some days we do actually get through now without breaking down, a sign we are absorbing the shock perhaps. Those days are rare. Most days, as I am now, I am fighting to breathe and to keep the tears inside. I know I will eventually fail and tears will flow. It's a never ending fight that I know I will lose and it's exhausting.
This weekend we are to go to choose a headstone for Bryn. One more undeniable reminder this is real, and this is permanent. It's difficult, some days, to just keep going and not to give in to the desire to join him, wherever he may be.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)