It'll Get Better...

I've come to learn this is a statement I am not fond of really.  Why? Because it doesn't get better, it hasn't, and I don't see it doing so.

I've said before there are certain days that will be forever etched in my mind. Yesterday was yet another one of those days.  I finally gathered up the courage to visit Harrison since his marker was placed.  It hit me hard because it made it all the more real. See his name in granite, his beautiful picture and those two days in my life I will always remember in great detail like it happened today. Those two days which changed my life and who I am completely forever.

Seeing it, even though I'm outside, it's like there's not enough air to breathe in, like it's been sucked out of the world.  I feel like I've been kicked in my chest and my heart is literally breaking in my chest.  My head starts pounding so hard and my eyes burn from the rush of tears.  All I can do is lay there and cry. 

I was told it'll get better by a well meaning friend and he doesn't live it so couldn't understand.  Let me explain why I cannot stand that statement though.

It doesn't get better living without a child.  Time does not soften the blow, make it easier to wake up knowing I will never see, hold, share life and so much more all with my son.  As days pass, I don't get comfort knowing he was robbed of life and all the milestones others will live out and he will not.  The more nights I go to bed crying and praying doesn't make it easier to sleep with the images I have of the last few days I saw him, alive and dead.

No, it doesn't get better.  For me, I just know I won't literally die from the hurt, from the broken heart.  I know I can cry for days on end and it's ok.  I can just sit and not worry about laundry or chores and just work through my sadness and that's ok. This is not better, this is learning to live with the new normal.  Learning to accept the grief process that is a roller coaster--some days up and some days down. 

Are you ok? That question is a great question though.  Because I am ok. I am ok to cry and be sad.  I'm ok because I know its normal and I'll work through it.  I know if it gets really bad, who to reach out to and what to do. So when you see me crying, "are you ok?" is not a stupid question.  If I say "no," then I'll ask for help.  It may just be a hug or please just cry with me.  But usually, I just need to cry it out.

Please, for me, don't tell me it gets better. Tell it's ok...ok to cry and be sad. Ok to talk about Harrison or share my grief. Or if you're uncomfortable with the whole situation, it's ok to not say or do anything. I completely understand.

Life's Remnants

I've decided to use this blog in a different manner: how I live without Harrison. This came after another day which will be yet another significant one since his death.

Harris is always on my mind but yesterday morning I missed him more.  Then I received a message from his sophomore English teacher; she had a paper he wrote and wanted to give it to me.  This is huge for me...

In life, we leave remnants of ourselves in places, with people, all over.  These remnants represent our personalities, dreams, desires, loves, losses and more. The longer we live, the more lives we touch, the more remnants spread throughout the world. 

Harrison left many remnants for his young age of 16.  I still can recall his vigil and all said like it was last night.  I learned more about my son than I ever expected.  Things said were deeper and more heartfelt than the typical "he was a great guy and I will miss him." Harrison made lasting, great impressions with many people who will remember him and all he was for the rest of their lives.  And they will share those memories with others because of how deep he touched them. 

Yesterday the remnant left was a powerful one which hit me hard.  In tenth grade, Harrison had an assignment in which he was to write a paper about his personal legend, what he would like to see his life become.  It spoke of honor, commitment, hard work, family, love with such a fierce passion it was obvious it was his destiny. 

Then it hit me: it is a life that would never happen. Harrison knew what he wanted in life and he didn't let others change his dreams.  He was wise beyond his years.  This young man, who wrote this paper at the age of 14, knew exactly what he wanted out of life, how to get it and was ready to put in all the hard work needed to get it. 

One day finding new remnants will come to an end. The ones from Harrison I come across are the greatest treasures he sends me in my life now.

Thank you Mrs. Lev