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My boy was my life

Discussion in 'Loss of Adult Child' started by motherof2forever, Dec 18, 2020.

  1. motherof2forever

    motherof2forever New Member

    This morning, I lay in bed reading the text messages that my 33-year old son and I shared with each other over the last year of his life. Some may call that morbid, but I needed to feel close to him; I needed to "hear" his voice; I needed to remember the rhythm of our relationship; most of all, I needed to feel again how much he still needed me. My boy, Nikolaus, lived in Los Angeles and proudly worked, successfully so, in the film industry. He was fiercely independent, but lived with many demons. Although we lived 700 miles from each other, I knew he had a problem with alcohol. I tried to talk to him, and even reached out to a few of his friends about it, but he would never admit to any weaknesses. I knew I was helpless to help him, but I didn't know just how bad it was.

    My life ended on May 13, 2020 at 7:32 pm. Only I didn't know that it had ended until May 20, a week later when I got a call at work from the Los Angeles coroner's office telling me that my son had been rushed to the hospital by ambulance complaining of shortness of breath, and that he died a few hours later. That moment replays in my mind torturously, over and over. When I heard the date of his death, I was horrified. I had been living my busy life, laughing, smiling, feeling that all was still predictable and secure, while my son lay dead in a morgue. The last month of his life, we were angry with one another. See, last Christmas while he and I were walking downtown, Nikolaus had a seizure in the middle of the street. It was a seizure brought on by alcohol withdrawals; he ended up in the hospital for 5 days. When he went home to LA, I feared for his life. I feared that even this violent event was not enough of a scare for him to stop drinking. When he sent me some text messages in late March that didn't make sense, I had to ask him if was drunk. He got angry with me, and I with him, and as a result we didn't talk much those last weeks of his precious life. I don't think that I'll ever quite forgive myself for that. So, this is why I didn't hear about his passing for a week. I didn't call him. What kind of a mother am I?

    Christmas is going to be impossible for me. Christmas is Nikolaus. Christmas is the time of year that he and I cherished. It meant him coming to stay with us for days, and oh how I looked forward to it. I knew that I couldn't stand being home for the holidays, so instead of my daughter coming here, I planned to stay with her in Portland so that we could support each other during this nightmare. Just yesterday though, she dropped a bomb on me: She didn't want me to fly up because of the Covid scare. I am devastated, and so scared of my emotional state. Now she is angry with me because I expressed that I was hurt over her decision. I'm not unreasonable; I know that she has a right to be cautious, but I am so vulnerable right now, as is she. The last thing I need is for her to negatively judge my emotions. So, here I am, looking Christmas in the face, a once most sacred time, and giving it the finger.

    In addition to all of this, my eldest sister's 47-year old son, David, was walking in the park on November 7, 2020, suffered an aneurysm and died. He was her only child, and her life. What kind of God does this? No one can tell me that there isn't some powerful, evil force playing cat and mouse with my family.

    My heart literally aches. The grief has only grown worse. Will I ever experience happiness again? How can I when everything that I used to do, to think, to imagine, was fueled by my children? What life is there for me now? I find myself resenting the people who care for me because if it weren't for them, I would have ended my life months ago.
     
    Sheri R. likes this.
  2. Chris M 2000

    Chris M 2000 Well-Known Member

    I hear your desperation. I know your desperation. I also wanted to die for quite some time. But one day, after taking a sedative before going to the dentist, I fell asleep behind the wheel while driving back to work. When I awoke my car was headed straight for a tree. I just had time to jerk the wheel, flipping the front of the car away from the tree and hitting the tree with the tail end of the car. I then realized, even though I had asked God so many times to take me out of this world, that it was not going to happen. I realized that somehow, by the grace of God, I was going to have to accept that I was "stuck here" and I would have to accept that fact, and somehow manage to get through each day without my son, my life. I am 20 years down the road now, and God has given me acceptance, comfort, and the ability to cope with my new life.
    What kind of mother are you? You are the same kind of ordinary mother all of us are, who are wondering why we didn't see things more clearly, why we didn't do things differently. Be forgiving of yourself for the mistakes you feel you have made. We all wish we could go back and do things differently.
     
  3. Chris M 2000

    Chris M 2000 Well-Known Member

    There are evil forces in this world, but they are not from God. God wanted to put us in a Garden of Eden where there was no pain, no heartache, and no separation from those we love so dearly. There was no death. Mankind was warned, but at that moment man decided to do things his way instead of heeding God's advice and warning. There is another world coming after good has had the victory over evil, and that gives us the possibility of seeing our dearly beloved sons again. I know this is of little comfort now. Grief is a long, slow process when it involves the death of a child. Give yourself time for things to get better. There is hope and there is light at the end of the tunnel. Be good and kind to yourself. Take good care of yourself-this is hard on our physical health too. Hang on and hold onto hope until things begin to get better for you. I promise they absolutely can. I care about you. Please stay connected with us. Chris
     
  4. Sheri R.

    Sheri R. New Member

    I’m new to the forum and just read your 2020 post. I hope you are doing better, and able to find some peace and comfort. I have a similar experience- my Son Christopher, 47, died on Christmas Eve last year. He was an alcoholic and suffering from depression. He was a bright, kind and insightful person and a great Dad to his son. He was my best friend and we spoke regularly, since he lived 800 miles away. His marriage had ended years ago, breaking up his family. It was an unbearable loss to him and he became depressed.

    He started drinking heavily years later, about the time he was diagnosed with a blot clot disorder and had surgery to save his leg. The doctor was not encouraging about the chance of keeping his leg long term. This was a constant fear for him.

    I went to live with him to provide family support, as he had none close by. He agreed to go to rehab for 60 days, but it didn’t work for him. He went to some AA meetings, but said they weren’t for him. I tried to stay positive for him and encourage him as he attempted to stop drinking. We were taking about him going to detox shortly before he died.

    Our last 2 years together were quite combative, verbally. The alcohol had made him a different person whom I loved just as much, but I felt like a helpless failure.

    He also had seizures many times, often falling and getting injured. The only time I saw a glimpse of his sweet self was when he was coming out of a seizure and just before he died.

    I had called the EMTs as he was struggling to breathe and asked him if something was hurting him and he said“my life”.

    When he passed, I felt a pain of such magnitude, that I could never have imagined. I am grieving my loss and for the the hopelessness he must have felt.

    As to when you will feel happiness again, I suppose it’s different for everyone. I believe we need to be open to feeling happiness again. I didn’t even feel like a person for a long time because I was no longer a Mom, so what was I?

    My heart is beginning to heal from the unbearable wound of losing him. I have days when I cry because I’ll never hear his voice again, or laugh at his mischievous sense of humor.

    I have regrets about things I could have said or done differently. I know regrets are pointless, because we can’t change history, but gosh, they hurt!

    We need to find a way to make peace with all of it and I believe that it’s possible for us.