I'm Up and I'm Dressed

Solemn thoughts…about this Friday…a year ago…

That first two weeks are pretty much a blur; I can’t tell you who was here exactly when or on what day I did what. All I know is I had people in and out of my house staying with me, helping me prepare for the afterlife; you know…the life after you’ve lost your loved one. My memory bank has always been much like my mother’s; you ask me when something happened or when someone did what and I can narrow it down to the year or the month…and sometimes, even the day. But, not those first two weeks of losing my son; they are a blur. On this Friday last year, I was preparing for a houseful of people. Family and friends coming from all over the United States; the furthest coming from South Carolina…one of his best friends, the friend we had just, three months prior, trekked across the US to see, in the same truck that crushed him…the same truck that rest on him as he took his last breath. I still shiver and tear up thinking of my son lying there, on the cold, wet ground, and what thoughts must have been going through his mind knowing he was at the end of his life on earth. Sigh, take a breath, recompose myself…

“I’m up and I’m dressed”…my mantra the first few weeks. I knew BJ would not want me to lose myself. He would expect me to get up, get dressed, and carry on, so I did. Today, I am still processing all that has happened, the loss of my oldest child, and what keeps me going every day. I won’t lie; I have had a few days that I have stayed in bed or days that I haven’t gotten dressed. Not because they were unbearable days, but because I was exhausted or just needed a down day. But, I can count those days on one hand not two, so considering the flipside and where else I could’ve ended up on this journey of grief I am ok with that and I think BJ would be too; or at least I tell myself that.

My house filled up that weekend as we prepared to “love him, but let him go”, as I pulled together photos of his life that would scroll on the big screen for all to see, as I prepared to meet and greet his loving friends and family that would make the trip to honor their loved one that they just lost. That Friday was filled with last minute shopping and family arriving late into the night. Saturday was a day I allowed myself a pedicure and wine, dinner and shared memories of BJ with friends, some of his cousins, two of his aunties, and his brother; while more people were arriving late into the night. Much of Sunday was a blur, except the mice…that memory is embedded in my brain. That morning, the 8+ people that were sharing 1200 square feet of space were taking turns in the shower, sharing memories over coffee, making bacon maple bars, and even sharing some laughter from BJ stories. The morning was good…until….some uninvited guests showed up. The house was somewhat quiet with two people making a last minute store run, one person in the backyard indulging in coffee and a “smoke”, while the other few were upstairs getting themselves together for the day. However, I decided to take advantage of the time and clean up the kitchen that had mass amounts of bacon and maple bars everywhere. All was going fine, dishes were getting rinsed and in the dishwasher, recycling finding its way to the container, and garbage getting put in the bag. Wait a minute, what’s that I see under my sink? Mouse droppings?! You’ve got to be kidding me! Today of all days…are you kidding me!? I don’t need this and I certainly don’t want to deal with it. Mice are cute little critters…as long as they don’t try to move into my dwelling! I swiftly grabbed my dustpan and brush, cleaned up the mess, and carried on. Really didn’t give it another thought. I dodged a bullet…so to speak. My bestie that was staying here didn’t know (until she reads this…if she does) and she would have freaked out…not her cup of tea. The others would have likely taken it with a grain of salt (and have already heard my "mice story").

Everyone gathered in my living room, my sister and her family met us here, we loaded the car, and we were off for a day that was sure to be a day fitting of my son. A day we would celebrate his much too short life and a day filled with hugs and many, many tears. That’s the part of the day that was a blur. I saw many people, I hugged many people, and I heard many memories of my son, but my heart hurt so much that I don’t remember much about that day. As quickly as my house filled, it emptied, and then I had to learn to live with what had happened; that my son was suddenly gone. My heart still hurts and I still have a hard time remembering what has happened (and when) over this past year and two weeks, but I still get up and I still get dressed and I still carry on…just as BJ would want.