I started the first post on May 22 and then promptly left the draft to sit, unable to continue.
I left off where I phoned my daughter to have her come home. She knew something was wrong, when I called her crying. Because I didn't want her to drive upset, I didn't tell her, just said come home right away. I think she was probably there in record time. She walked in and asked me what was wrong. "Brandon." I will never forget standing in my living room, staring out the window, sobbing the words out to my daughter that her only sibling was dead.
Some things are seared into my memory right now. The moment I found out. The place I was standing when I fell apart. My daughter running in the house to find out what happened. Walking into the viewing. Walking into the chapel of my church for the boy's funeral. Being in his room, having to pick out clothes for his viewing. Flowers. All the flowers. Death flowers I call them. Lasagna...the universal dish of grief. These things seem so random, but what they are now associated with is such sadness and there are many more. Any seemingly random thing can cause me to burst into tears. The shower. At one point, I got in the shower. I sobbed through every minute in the bathroom, in the shower, out of the shower, doing my hair, all of it. And, opened the bathroom door to an entire room of people staring at me, like deer in headlights, stone cold silent. Surreal. The car, which is the last place I saw my son alive. I hugged him and kissed him goodbye and told him I loved him...something I'll address in a later blog.
I eventually called the medical examiner back that first day and got a few details, though there are still many unanswered questions. Like, is it not suspicious that a 19 year old just died, in someone else's house and they are telling you that there was a 16 hour gap in between when they last saw him alive and when they found him? Is time of death not a relevant thing to corroborate what they are saying? I was informed that they don't "do" time of death here, it is listed as the time it was called in. HUH? The death certificate says unknown. So, I wait for toxicology. But, as I told the ME, having answers doesn't change things. Knowing what really happened doesn't bring my boy back.
I never could talk to my husband that first day. My own grief so overpowering I thought that if I had to bear his, also, it would actually kill me...literally. I spoke to few people, actually, and tried to keep anyone from coming over, but our friends knew we were in need and showed up, anyway.
One friend showed up totally beside herself for me, not even sure what to do with me or herself. Because there is nothing to do, there are no words, I get it. What can you say or do, how do you comfort someone who cannot be comforted? She immediately stuck a cigarette in my mouth. It's still funny to me, though I'm not sure why. I guess it strikes me as funny that it is such an awkward situation, one would naturally think a cigarette is the answer. I'd quit smoking some time before, but I took that one and decided that I'd started smoking, again, when my son died. It's probably good that they have a bad memory associated with them so I'll stop, again, very soon.
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