The pain of missing someone

Over the last week or so, I have discovered a new emotion: the excruciating pain of missing someone.

So many thoughts about Lev are sad. But when I realize, deeply and suddenly and without warning, that I will never, ever see him again, it goes beyond sadness, it hurts so much, a cosmic pain that rips me apart. I yell, I wail, I am racked with sobs. There is no relief in it, no endpoint. I eventually just have to stop before I exhaust myself.

I realize at these moments that I am finally starting to connect with what has happened, that I am beginning to comprehend the depth and intensity of the loss. And I can find value in that. Because I desperately want to understand what happened, no matter how much it hurts.

Tony and lev on a trail

You have broken me

To quote the Dixie Chicks, "You have broken me, all the way down."

I don't think I can be repaired, just learn to live with the broken parts.

Today I thought It would be the day that I didn't make it in to school.
I was really having a hard time imagining going on with the day. It all seemed pointless.
But, I made myself get dressed, eat some cottage cheese, drink some tea, and I drove to work, crying all the way.

I got in the building and was met by the needs of the day, by my drive to make it all work, and I made it through.

In the afternoon I went to interviews for a migrant advocate position. On the interview team was a teacher that got to know Lev well in six grade when Lev befriended a new immigrant, Noe, and Lev's Spanish teacher from last year who seemed to really appreciate him. I just had to close off the grieving part of me and get through it. I did, and I survived. I'm not sure it's any harder at the end of the day if I close myself off and do my job or if I am at home reflecting, moping, crying. It is always right there, just under the surface, a constant knowledge that the world is not fair and my life as I knew it has been destroyed.

But, then good things happen, like a second grader super excited to see me, or a text from Jaal, and it seems manageable for a little bit.

Jaal is coming home this weekend. I can't wait to see him. It feels magical, that he can go away and still be calling, texting, and then come and visit. It is wonderful. It is what I want most with Lev, for him to be able to come back. I still have trouble understanding the enormity of forever. But Jaal I can see and I'm thankful for that. I miss him, too, but we can talk. I bought him some of his favorite things at the store for this weekend and to bring back to school. I can buy them, and he will come back and eat them. It's all I want, to be able to buy food and have my kids eat it. It never seemed like too much to ask for.

Rebecca

shoes

Shoes

I looked at those shoes every day. Sitting by the door, on the second shelf - a mix between hiking boots and sneakers, brown, with orange laces, size 6. He loved when he got new shoes. They made him feel powerful.

I'm not sure how they got on the shoe rack. When we came back from camping, friends of ours met us at the house, and unpacked for us. Someone must have put them there. Since we returned I looked at those shoes every day for weeks, obsessed. I cried about the shoes, but mostly I just thought about them. I still do.

One day I decided I had to do it. I had to admit that he wasn't coming back, that he wasn't going to wear those shoes. I held the shoes and I didn't know what to do. I had to move them, I just had to, I couldn't stand it any longer. Standing there, holding the shoes, I wasn't sure where to put them. Grabbing them had been impulsive. I realized I could throw them away, but I didn't want to. Some part of me still hadn't accepted that he wasn't coming back. I put the shoes in the bin in the closet, just in case. I thought that he might be mad that I took them off his shelf.

Today it has been only twelve weeks since he died, within hours, at age fourteen of yet unknown causes. I am waiting for it to make sense, to make sense of a world where things like this happen. I cannot understand the enormity of our loss, but I understand the shoes.

Rebecca

Anxiety

It can be painful to think about Lev — of how he will never be here,
of the things we will never get to do again. But if we let ourselves
get too off course, if we get caught up in the daily flow of life, if
we don't hold Lev in our thoughts, then we start to get anxious. It is
a deep feeling, it is inner grief trying to rise up, truly
subconscious. Its cause is far from obvious, almost a mysterious
source. But when the tears come and you feel a release, you understand
what you were anxious about.

Today I felt very anxious, and I did not know why. In a very logical
way I knew I was ignoring certain feelings, but I could not perceive
this consciously. I took the dog for a walk, hoping a little fresh air
and sunshine would help. As I passed under the railroad trestle, I
looked at the dry creek beside the road. There were some rocks piled
up in it. Lev had made a little dam, and used to cross the creek via
the stones on his way home from school. The dam was falling apart now,
the rocks scattered by the relentless flow of the creek during the
rains. I started at those rocks and cried. Lev was so proud of his
work; i crossed it with him many times. He will never get to cross it
again, he will never get to fix it. I will never again see his bright
eyes and glowing smile.

I am sad now, but not anxious. It is a better place to be. It hurts so
much to have him gone, but at least he is in my thoughts and heart.