Heartbreak

"I MISS YOU" screamed over and over into the blankets of the bed.  Tears soaked through the cloth and I all I can do is rub his back.

My tears flow as well and I struggle to think of the right things to say.  But I know nothing really helps me either when the grief hits me.  When I really feel the full weight of the fact that Jeff is gone and never returning.  I look up at the ceiling of J1's room and I think "how could you do this to him?"

There is no answer.  We cried for hours while I am talking about how it isn't fair and how Daddy had looked forward in anticipation to J1's birth, how much Daddy loved him, all the plans Daddy had for them to do (all the way up to college).  The pain of the loss is like a blinding white light in the room while the air is being sucked out.  Neither of us knows what to do.

I tell him it's OK to be angry.  Who is he most angry with?  No answer.  I say, "Daddy" and I get a nod.  It's OK to be angry.  It's OK to be angry with Daddy, it's OK to be angry with God, it's OK to be angry with me.

Problem is: he isn't letting his anger out in the right way.  What does a 7 year old know about dealing with these emotions?  Unfortunately, he's taking it out on the nearest person to him: his brother.  I am tired of it and while I hate having to punish him, I can't let his reign of terror continue.  I am angry too but I don't get to bite and hit and scratch and punch and kick whoever I feel like.  Not that I know how to deal with the anger either. Which is why I alternate from sleeping too much to not sleeping at all or eating to much to not eating at all, or drinking too much to not drinking at all.  It would feel good to pound the shit out of someone, and I know who I'd like to hit,  but it isn't an option.  Instead, you have to find another outlet for that anger.  Is this why people turn to drugs and alcohol?  Or the socially acceptable drug of all: sugar?  Maybe if we didn't have to swallow our anger we could heal a bit faster.  Heal and move on.

Afterwards, he collects items in his room that remind him of Jeff.  A gokart trophy, a racing number, bags of tire scraps from the races they went to together.  All on his dresser with his pictures.  I tell him that when I want to feel close to Daddy I will wear a shirt (or sweatshirt) of his and I get him one.  We pick out a few more items for him to add to his collection.  To look at and remember Jeff.  To look at and remember to grieve.

My heartbreak doesn't stop with J1.  For as much pain as he is in and as much as it hurts me to watch him go through this, the fact that J2 doesn't grieve hurts me just as much.  J1 mourns Jeff's loss but J2 can't mourn for what he doesn't remember.  I get the heartbreak from both sides and I find no peace.

Sincerely,

Jeff's Widow