Life After Death

Continuing the story on February 18th ... 

After the burial, we were off to a hotel for the night.  The thing I remember most about the hotel is the swimming pool.  As we had come from Mexico for the funeral and everything, I had brought my bathing suit.  Now I know this is unusual for people in the Pacific Northwest at the end of February, but it was a "comfort" thing for me.

As soon as we got to the hotel, I put on my suit and turned to my family and said "I will be at the pool if anyone needs me or is looking for me."  I remember someone (don't remember who it was, sorry ...) asking "Are you sure you'll be ok alone at the pool?? Do you want me or someone to go with you?" and I remember my response being "No, I will be fine.  I just need some alone time."  

I saw my folks share some worried glances with my sisters and Dave, but at the time they didn't really register.   I am sure they were based on a fear that I wouldn't be ok, but no one said anything so I went to the pool.  

The time at the pool was a release of a lot of emotions and, especially, a time to cry without holding back.  It was nice because I would swim a lap, float and cry, sing a verse or two of a favorite song and then swim a lap again.  I was there over 4 hours and, no, I didn't get out.  I also didn't drown, which I think, at some level, I wanted to happen.

Here's the kicker about grief.  When you are going through grief, it's expected that you won't say anything out of anger or plain old being mean.  You won't lash out at others if you love them or care about them as much as you did the deceased.  Now, I don't know where this belief came from but I can tell you that it is incorrect.  I did get mad and I did go swimming.  I did swim underwater until I couldn't catch my breath anymore, but I couldn't bring myself to simply "quit breathing".  Don't get me wrong ... I definitely thought about it.  I thought about a lot of things that evening.  I thought about what it would be like to walk into heaven with my Danny and what it would be like to wait and see him later.  I thought about how I could possibly end my life without hurting another soul.  I thought about how many nights I would think about him and wonder if he was ok.  I thought about how much I would miss my dear, "colorful character" of a son. I thought about how tired I was of people saying that "He's in a better place" and "You will be ok" when, quite frankly, I did not know if I would EVER be ok again.  I thought, mostly, about how much I would miss how much of a part of my life he had always been.  Since the time he was born, he was "my" boy and I loved him.  He was an extension of me and now it's as though a limb has been cut off.  Worse yet, my heart has been removed and a piece of clay put in it's place, along with an hourglass full of the sands of time, just waiting for my time to run out so I can see him again.

I know that my family would be angry and, possibly a little hurt, if they read this part of the story.  I also know that now is the time for me to "come clean", so to speak.  I don't think that pretending everything was ok and that I knew that I would be ok is honest, nor is it a heartfelt sentiment that I can share with others.  As far as I was concerned, NOTHING was ok at that time and I didn't know WHEN (or IF for that matter) I would come out of the experience on the other side, or IF the other side would look any different or better than the side I had originated from.  Honestly??  That is a question that I still seek to answer, moment by moment, hour by hour and day by day.