Two years have passed and still you haunt me, my boy.
It’s been two years since Bug turned sheet white and non-responsive. Two years since my husband ran out to start the car on a frosty fall evening in the middle of the night. Two years since I looked Boo square in the eye and told him this was the one time I couldn’t take my child to the hospital. I wasn’t strong enough.
It has been two years since I buckled Bug into his car seat and kissed his forehead, told him mommy loves him, and hold tight. Mommy will make it all better.
Two years since I drove as fast as my car could go, the pedal to the floor. Two years since I hoped I wouldn’t hit any animals in the dark, two years since I prayed for just this once to be stopped by a police car, anything not to be so alone with my fear and worry in the dark.
It’s been two years since I phoned my husband in the middle of the night, while he waited for a baby-sitter to watch Fric and Frac and told him I was more frightened than I have ever been before, so worried I would fail Bug.
It has been two years since I whipped into that parking lot and felt sick to my stomach. I feared when I opened the door to get Bug out, he would be dead.
Two years since I saw my son’s head hang at an unnatural angle, drew a deep breath and yanked him out of his seat and ran into the emergency room, with him hanging limply in my arms. He was warm.
It has been two years since I literally threw him into the arms of a worried nurse and he ran off with my son, calling out a code. Two years since I stood and watched them try and find a pulse, insert a central line, and scream medical terms that I understood all too well.
Two years since my mouth ran dry as cotton and my heart thumped like a rabbit’s.
It’s been two years since I asked to sit in a dark room and wait to hear any news. I couldn’t handle watching his little body lie there lifeless as they tried to perform an act of God and bring him back to me.
Two years since his pediatrician, bedraggled and haggard, with the light from the hall shining behind him, walk into that dark room and just start to weep. Two years before a stream of doctors and nurses entered after him and patted me on the knee and apologised for not being able to save him.
It has been two years since I sat there in disbelief and terror and waited to shed a tear while others around me wept.
It has been two years since my husband ran into that dark room and looked at me with fear and hope in his eyes. It has been two years since I had to muster the strength to tell him he was too late, his son passed away, I couldn’t save him.
Two years since I last saw my baby, kissed his face, sang his song and said good bye.
Two years since I walked out of that hospital, childless, with Bug’s clothing in a plastic white bag, and Boo by my side.
Two years since I drove home in silence, alone, to face my children.
Two years since I woke them up and told them their brother died.
It has been two years and it still hurts as much as it did the day it happened.
Two years and I haven’t stopped missing my Bug.
Two years and I still haven’t stopped loving him.
Two years and I still wish every damn day that fateful night had turned out differently.
It has been two years.
I’m worn out with wishing.
Monday, 22 October, 2007 at 8:13
Hoping you get wet sloppy Bug kisses in your dreams tonight. You’re a good woman T.
Monday, 22 October, 2007 at 8:54
My heart aches for you and your family. I will pray for you. Know that so many people are thinking and praying for you.
Monday, 22 October, 2007 at 9:04
He was blessed to have you and so much love around him for the time he was on earth. He was truly an angel. Thinking of you and your family this week.
Monday, 22 October, 2007 at 9:06
Lay your grief at God’s feet and ask Him to ease your pain. Bless your heart. xox
Monday, 22 October, 2007 at 9:09
So very sorry you (and your family) ever had to experience that. You’re in my prayers for peace and comfort.
Monday, 22 October, 2007 at 9:16
Crying many many tears for you, and wishing you peace.
Monday, 22 October, 2007 at 9:36
I know there’s nothing to say to make this better or easier. But, I’m so genuinely sad and sorry for you and for your family.
Monday, 22 October, 2007 at 9:40
Thinking of you and your family. You all were so lucky to have Bug, and he was so lucky to have you. Can’t even begin to imagine how hard this must be for all of you. Wishing you peace and healing.
Monday, 22 October, 2007 at 9:48
T. Oh, T.
After reading this, I just sat here for a few minutes and thought about you and your shalebug. I think of him, and you, often.
(((HUGS)))
Monday, 22 October, 2007 at 9:49
I know we all wish there was something more we could do for you, but our words and thoughts and prayers have to suffice. You are most certainly loved by so many, all those positive vibes going out to you must surely help a little. Be well and take care of yourself during this tough time. And know that *we* will never forget your Bug either.
Monday, 22 October, 2007 at 9:59
I’m so sorry it hurts so much Tannis. There’s nothing I can do to make it better, I know. Take care sweetie.
Monday, 22 October, 2007 at 9:59
I know your loss and your pain.
It isnt ever easy, and it never really ends…
But you wouldnt want it to.
I know that much to be true.
Monday, 22 October, 2007 at 10:47
I’m sitting here weeping as I’m reading your post. I cannot even begin to imagine the unbelievable pain you and your family went and are still going through. If I could make a wish come true right now, I would bring your little angel back. He is a lucky boy to have you as his mommy. Many hugs.
Monday, 22 October, 2007 at 11:02
If it breaks MY heart to pieces reading it I could never imagine the scope of living it and I ache for you when you write about your lost little one. I truly wish you and your family didn’t have to go through it, still do and always will. I’m so sorry.
Monday, 22 October, 2007 at 11:04
I know I can’t take away the hurt or the sadness. I can only offer my sincere wish for you to find some solace. Your story touches so many people from so many different walks of life. We all are grieving with you on this anniversary and please know that your little shalebug is still touching people daily, inspiring people. I don’t necessarily find myself to be a “strong” person, but today I find myself (and I am sure I am not alone) wanting to be in BFE Canada standing by your side. Just if you needed it. I have some suspicion that you, my dear, are much stronger than I can ever hope to be. Much love, many hugs and kisses.
Monday, 22 October, 2007 at 11:12
He was such a beautiful boy-in many ways, thank you for sharing him. Thinking of you today, friend.
Monday, 22 October, 2007 at 12:18
Oh T, I had to lock myself in the bathroom for a minute because I was crying too hard and didn’t want to scare the kids. Then I came out and hugged them extra tight. So sorry you had to (are) go(ing) through that. Big, big hugs.
Monday, 22 October, 2007 at 12:19
This probably sounds strange, but I can’t thank you enough for sharing Bug with all of us. Because of him, I hug my kids tighter. Because you’ve been generous enough to let us hear his story, and feel the love you have for him, I am more grateful and patient. Your Little Man has made me a better person.
Monday, 22 October, 2007 at 12:23
I have no words to match what my heart felt reading this. Thank you for sharing. I’m so so sorry for your loss.
Monday, 22 October, 2007 at 12:54
This seems like more than any mother, father, sister or brother should ever have to bear. I’m so sorry.
Monday, 22 October, 2007 at 12:58
Peace to you my friend. May you find peace.
Monday, 22 October, 2007 at 13:02
(((((HUGS)))))
Monday, 22 October, 2007 at 13:38
I am so incredibly sorry for your loss. *hugs*
Monday, 22 October, 2007 at 14:24
This post touched me. I hurt for you, through your deep words. I pray for you, for your (and your family’s) peace. My thoughts for you are that your angel perpetually smiles upon you. I’m so sorry you lost your Bug. Words can’t even describe….
Monday, 22 October, 2007 at 14:32
I’ve been a lurker for sometime to your blog but this post has forced me out. My prayers are for you and your family whenever you are reminded of your son. That said, it seems you’ve done an amazing job trying to maintain a rich life for you and your family and I hope that it continues for you.
Ron
Monday, 22 October, 2007 at 14:34
In each memory you have of him, each thought, he is with you, in spirit – and will always be. I’m sorry he’s no longer here with you – but I know he’s smiling and laughing along with all of you – and I know he loves and misses each of you just as you do him.
T, I cant imagine your pain. I admire you as a mom, as a person.
Hugs and love to all of you.
Monday, 22 October, 2007 at 14:49
Hugs to you.
Monday, 22 October, 2007 at 15:55
I wish I could just give you a hug because words just seem to fail me. Sending you all so much love and wishing you peace…
Monday, 22 October, 2007 at 16:14
Sending you hugs. xxx
Monday, 22 October, 2007 at 16:18
(((((((((Hugs))))))))
Monday, 22 October, 2007 at 16:18
(((Hugs))) My thoughts and prayers are with you and yours.
Monday, 22 October, 2007 at 17:25
RM, I am so, so sorry this is your story. I am sitting at work here crying, because I can feel in your words just a tiny piece of the pain you carry, and just that little bit hurts. I can’t imagine, honey. I can only wish I was there to give you rib-cracking hugs and let you cry on my shoulder while I sobbed witih you, and then fed you ice cream and put you to bed when you were all wrung out. I would, dear, if I could. Meanwhile, I can only tell you how brave I think you are to share it.
Monday, 22 October, 2007 at 17:31
Two weeks ago was the first time in my life I ever had to be with someone when they died.
I am really struggling. I am trying to put on a good face, but I’m really struggling.
Somehow it is comforting to me though to come here and read you today.
We are not alone, you and I.
I’ll just be over here, grieving alongside you.
xo,
OTJ
Monday, 22 October, 2007 at 17:41
Crying tears for you, with you today.
Monday, 22 October, 2007 at 18:02
I pray for you and your family, every time you talk about Bug I cry my eyes out … please know I am senging ((HUGS))
Monday, 22 October, 2007 at 19:42
I love you, Redneck Mommy. Is that weird? I’ve never seen you but I’m crying like Bug was someone I knew. Like you’re someone I know. I think you’re amazing.
Monday, 22 October, 2007 at 20:14
Through my tears for you and your family, I can only tell you that I send you my love and wishes for comfort during this painful time.
God bless him and you.
Monday, 22 October, 2007 at 21:39
Just tears. Tears for you and Boo, for Fric and Frac, for your Bug. I’m wishing too; wishing that you’d never had to go through such pain.
Tuesday, 23 October, 2007 at 4:39
Nothing I haven’t said before. My sincerest condolences to all of you this week, I know it’s a particularly difficult time for you all.
Tuesday, 23 October, 2007 at 5:11
I never know exactly what to say, but I am so sorry you’ve had to go through this. No parent should have to lose a child, and I can’t even comprehend the pain it must cause.
Tuesday, 23 October, 2007 at 7:23
Time is supposed to heal … but I often wonder if the people who insist on saying that have ever experienced gut-wrenching pain. By sharing these poignant memories, you bring Bug alive for all of us, and you allow us to know him, to share in your grief, and to feel our own sadness at his loss almost as if he were our child too. Thank you for that. Love and prayers to you.
Tuesday, 23 October, 2007 at 9:36
Oh T. I wish this for you, too. Alas, it cannot be. So instead I wish you peace and healing as the time goes by. And the hope that someday you will once again hold your Bug close.
Tuesday, 23 October, 2007 at 9:52
Hugs. Hugs and love.
Tuesday, 23 October, 2007 at 14:00
No parent should ever have to go through the loss of a child. I’m so very sorry.
My heart aches for you as it does for my friends little girl/family. She is now with out her mommy due to a senseless accident.
I can’t stop thinking about her. Scary how life can forever be changed in an instant.
Love to you !
Tuesday, 23 October, 2007 at 17:57
This is as haunting to read as if it happened today. My heart is beating so fast and there are tears in my eyes for your loss.
Wednesday, 24 October, 2007 at 3:51
There are no words…although I don’t know from my own experience, I know from what I have read, what my husband’s Mom’s best friend grieved at losing her middle child when he was 33 and just intuitively as a mother, that you never get over the grief of losing a child.
Elizabeth Edwards has some amazing insights into grief after losing her son Wade in a car accident in her book Saving Graces (see the following two entries):
http://dibookblogetc.typepad.com/my_weblog/2007/10/saving-graces.html
http://dibookblogetc.typepad.com/my_weblog/2007/10/elizabeth-edwar.html
At her talk at Quail Ridge Books last week, she touched on the subject and it seemed as fresh and painful as it must have been 10 years ago. Her only advice to people helping others grieve is to not let them do anything irrevocable. They can do anything….laugh, cry, scream, punch holes in the walls…but if they start purging photographs or editing out videos of the lost child…gently take that task away from them. Tell them you will take care of it…then put the stuff in your closet or rent a room if you have to…and make sure that stuff is there when they are ready to deal with it.
Grieve and remember…and remember that whatever you do and however you handle it…it’s OK. It’s yours!
Wednesday, 24 October, 2007 at 8:12
It’s taken me three days to try to read this post in it’s entirety, and I still haven’t gotten through it. But I will, because you had to, and because I truly feel like your memories of your Bug are a gift to us. But I’m gonna cry. A lot.
Wednesday, 24 October, 2007 at 8:12
It’s taken me three days to try to read this post in it’s entirety, and I still haven’t gotten through it. But I will, because you had to, and because I truly feel like your memories of your Bug are a gift to us. But I’m gonna cry. A lot.
Much love.
Wednesday, 24 October, 2007 at 8:29
I’m glad to see the sun was shining for you when you visited.
I just passed my “2″…Lord, it never gets easier.
We just learn to walk so it doesn’t hurt as much.
((BIG HUGS, rnm!))
Wednesday, 24 October, 2007 at 10:37
I am so, so sorry…