The Longest Day

I knew Rob would not deal  well with this news. His anger was unabashed. I was feeling mostly sadness. Hugh actually called back later in the evening, but I really didn't have anything to say. 

I got in the shower and just started sobbing like never before. Almost wailing. I nearly fell to my knees from the grief (but I knew that would hurt). Like images you see of war victims, or relatives at the site of a plane crash. Huge sobs, barely catching my breath. My grief was unmeasurable, unabashed and yet I felt very shameful for having those thought. My son. My son. My son. 

My son. My beautiful, only son. The only grandson for either side of the family. Named after my grandfather, my father, and my father-in-law. How could he do this? To us? To him? To them? My dad just died and now my son is gone. How? Why? 

He's never had things easy. The type of kid to wear shorts out at 5C because he doesn't want to admit that the sunshine through the window doesn't match the actual outside temperature. The type of kid happy to pass up Hallowe'en rather than suffer wearing a costume. The type of kid who can't lie and never breaks rules. His bad choices could be added up on one hand. 

Throwing his yogurt at a classmate.

Trying to start a fire in the backyard.

Breaking the skateboard him and Dad worked on together.

Forging a guidance slip. 

Not checking in with me to find the best route to the conservation area so him and his friends could          go burn their notebooks. They ended up walking miles out of their way, with no water, in 30C+

Oh yes. There was the time he "let" Lucy cut her own hair rather than coming to get me, and the one time he smacked Megan on the back so hard it left a red hand imprint. 

I KNOW, inside my brain, that this is NOT a "bad choice". My heart feels differently though. My son. My son. My son.

I KNOW I need to put his needs first. My heart though keeps saying "What about us?"

I KNOW I have it easy compared to what he has coming. That doesn't make it easy though.

I went to bed, unable to sleep despite allergy meds and melatonin. I quietly sobbed most of the night. My son. My son. My son. Luckily, I had the day off work, but I still had to get Megan up and ready to be picked up for a special skating workshop with Kurt Browning. 

Once the girls were both gone, I broke down again. My son. My son. My son. I never wanted three girls. I wanted two boys and one girl. I'd rather have three girls than two girls and one dead son. Although I am not ready to be all "Yay! Lets go bra shopping!", I know enough to respect his choice and I don't want to add to his troubles. Rob checked his drug benefit plan, and indeed, Hugh has been taking what appears to be hormones. He was about to call to find out if Hugh could be taken off the plan. I couldn't think straight anymore. I feel so broken.  Rob keeps saying "He doesn't know how hard it's going to be" and then he adds he doesn't want to see him, or support him, or anything. So I say, "Why should his parents make it even harder for him? Shouldn't parents be the ones to provide the safe space?".  

I KNOW this, yet my heart is still broken. My son. My son. My son.