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.
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