I look at the date on the calendar and it reads 8/8. It’s been 9 months since the accident, the same amount of time that it took me to grow him inside of me. 9 long months of pain. 9 months to physically heal from the accident.
I’m exhausted, I’m sad, I’m hurt and I’m alone. How I hate it when Parker is not in bed next to me, reminding me that we’re in this together. Holding my hand when I need him to and kissing me to remind me that he’s here.
Last night was a doozy. We hit some pretty bad weather outside of Colorado and I was terrified. Parker did his best in his exhausted state to try to keep me calm, but I panicked. I held onto Darcy tightly and cried, so scared that I would lose Parker or her, that something would go wrong again. Parker kept saying it would be ok, Benny would take care of us. I have to wonder though, why wasn’t my mom taking care of Benny and me during the accident? Why were we forgotten?
We’ve been driving through the Denver area and I feel so exposed. There are no trees, no hills, no curves, just flat land and mountains. When it storms, you see the lightening touch down. So much open space.
I’m tired down to my bones. I ache to have something that I will never have again. I look at this new version of myself and I’m not happy with what I see. I’ve never felt so beaten down by life.
I want to return to the living, but I don’t know how. I cringe at meeting new people, to have to answer the question about how many children I have. I despise driving. The furthest I’ve driven myself was 40 minutes. I cannot handle much more than 20 minutes by myself in the car.
I am angry at people that cannot understand. I have met strangers that have been truly amazing, loving and kind, yet some of the people closest to us are disappointing. I don’t know how to handle this, I don’t know what to do with this anger. Is it misplaced, no doubt, but it still exists and I still hurt.
I’m tired of the purple elephant in the room. Yes my son died, but please don’t forget that he lived. That he was loved. Please don’t feel weird talking about him. I’m so tired of hearing ‘I don’t want to upset you.’ I’m sad all the time over losing Benny, if I cry that is my way of working through it. Please don’t make me feel bad about it.
Most of all, I miss my son.
Sunshine, Angels and Rainbows 
All night last night I dreamt about driving on this edge of a cliff, during sunset, and watching tornadoes form and disappear over and over. And the girl driving the car ( not you) was freaking out but wouldn’t drive us to safety. Weird.
You are right…it doesn’t make sense about your mom… None of it makes sense, really. Maybe when you are afraid, like during those storms, could you guys share hilarious Bennett stories? I often laugh when I think of your story of bathing a greased pig. Or maybe you could write then down here or somewhere else. I know, I have no clue what I’m talking about, just a thought:-).
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Sheri, I understand and I am so sorry you are living this nightmare. I wish I had words of comfort to offer but all I can say is that the pain of losing a child is unlike any other pain in the world. Add the PTSD and well, it’s just too much. I can’t hear a siren or see an ambulance without remembering. We are traumatized from our experience. Anger – well, you already know how angry I have been, but I am worn out from being mad at the world. Yeah, some do deserve it because they compound my pain but most people are good. I have a feeling you won’t stay angry forever because it sounds like you have too much love in you. Benny and your Mom will help you to heal along with your husband and daughter. There is help on both sides of the veil and you are never alone! But it takes time. I am only a few months ahead of you and my anger is shifting a bit but far from gone. And yes, we want to hear our child’s name! Take care, my friend.
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