Home Again

Fast forward a bit to February 28, 2005


It's time to return to Mexico and I am worn out, exhausted and can't wait to get on the plane to return "home".  Since my Danny is now buried in Oregon, I can't get away fast enough.  I want to go somewhere that I can forget all about Danny.  Forget that he is gone.  Forget that I am without him.  Forget that  my heart has been replaced with clay.  Forget that my life has changed and, most likely, will never be as full as it was with Danny in my life.  

What do I remember? Then? What am I thinking about? I remember that Danny will never again walk into the house, snag a cookie from the cookie jar and say "Hey mom, got any real food to eat?"  I will never again see him and laugh so hard my face hurts because his hair is dyed yet another color.  "C" will grow up without her older brother looking out for and protecting her.  "A" will grow up without her little brother to look out for and protect her. "A" will also grow up being unable to protect her little brother.  "A" will not have Danny to be there and be the best man at  her wedding.  Danny will never get married.  He also will never have children.  I will never again see the smile that lit my life and my heart equally with joy.  We will never again have a logical, illogical or theological  discussion and break out in either tears or laughter half-way through it.  I will never again laugh as hard as Danny made me laugh, because he knew me and he got me.  No one, ever again, will ever be my oldest AND my son.  No one.

I remember that, on the plane returning home to Mexico, they didn't have us sitting all together but, in fact, we were in different sections of the plane.  When Dave told the flight attendant that we had just buried our son, she gave us three seats together and that was super nice.  I also remember that for the entire three hour flight (more or less), I cried.  I don't remember stopping the entire time.  I couldn't eat.  I made myself drink some water, but I really didn't want to.  I just kept looking out the window and thinking to myself "God, I don't understand but I want my son back. I want him here. I don't care what You want right now, because I know what I want. I don't care if it's what You know is best. I know it would be best for my Danny to still be here with me."  

More tears fall unchecked and I don't even notice.  My eyes hurt and I fall asleep.  My head hurts but my heart is numb so I sleep. When I wake up, I notice that the hurt isn't any less and my eyes burn like I have been crying for decades instead of days. I cry until I am certain, 100% sure, that I have no tears left. Then, much to my surprise, I cry more .... and more .... and more.  The tears don't stop for days after returning to Mexico.

The worst part is that I cry all the time now.  I have always been emotional and cried at sad movies, or when I saw an abused child, but I have NEVER cried like I am crying now. There is no logical reason for my emotional self to find this cathartic, but apparently it does. I find my pillow soaking wet from the tears when I awaken in the morning. The night terrors start and don't stop for a very, very long time. My arm shooting out in my sleep, across the body who is Danny in the driver's seat of the car, holding him back and stopping his head from breaking when the car crashes, yet not being able to stop him from dying. It is my fault that Danny is dead. If I had only ... If I had never ... If ... If ... If ...

I am back in Mexico now, tired and worn out.  Physically I feel as though my feet are lead, my head is full of marbles and my heart is either not there or has been replaced with a clay replica of itself.  I withdraw and spend most of the time alone that I possibly can. I do not want to be around "C". I do not want to be around Dave but, most of all, I do not want to be around the teenage boys at our lovely mission church who remind me so much that my Danny is gone. This is harsh, I am sorry, but it is true.