The Black Cloud
I've never mentioned this, but ever since going back to work, I use my 30 minute commute to cry. I think I have to do this in order to act like everything is okay for my students. It's really hard. Now that two months have passed, we are getting to the point where life has gone back to normal for just about everyone else. I feel like I have to hold in the tears for longer periods of time. But for an hour a day, while I'm alone in my car driving to and from the next town over, I listen to the radio and cry. Life has gone on for everyone around me, but it hasn't for our family. We are trying our best to just plug through every day, but to be blunt, it sucks.
The other day I made it into work and settled into my classroom. Every morning is horrible, but that morning I guess I was feeling worse than others. As the clock ticked closer to the ringing of the morning bell, I was running out of minutes to pull myself together. I think my coworker, Alyssa, must have walked by her door and noticed me because she came in to check on me. "My life sucks," I said. I've never been one to use that word. I actually hate it. It's a harsh word. But lately, it's how I feel.
Even on the most beautiful of spring days, when the azaleas are in bloom, when I go for a walk and catch a sweet waft of some nearby flowering shrub, even when the sun is setting and casting a golden glow on the mountains, my life feels horrible. It's not even a life, really. More of just an existence. I'm here, but not really living. Even in moments that should be fun, enjoyable, or peaceful, there is a dark cloud, a sadness and pain that never lifts. There is no way to enjoy anything when I can't forget even for a second that my beautiful little boy is gone.
I look back at what life was like before Jameson died. I always used to think to myself how wonderful my life was. I had an awesome family. My husband, kids, and I all had so much fun together. Whether we were all just piled onto the couch cuddling or off on an adventure together, we had a very peaceful, loving family. I always joked that Dan and I hit the parenting lottery. Our two boys were so easy to parent. They were cooperative, respectful, and did amazingly well in school. They were just so much fun to be around. When we moved to the mountains, our lives together got even better. We now live in the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains. We enjoyed hiking, exploring creeks, and waterfalls, and wandering around the shops in our small town. We had such a great life and I thanked God for giving it to us.
Now that Jameson is gone, our family is more like a pile of broken jagged pieces with a bunch of the pieces missing. Those missing pieces brought us giggles, silly singing, corny jokes, and lots of hugs and cuddles. Those missing pieces of our family were Rhys's best friend, his brother who was so close in age that people mistook them for twins.
Here is what a day in the life of our broken pieces of family looks like.
Rhys and Jameson used to share a bedroom, but since Rhys woke up the morning of February 27th to see Dan screaming Jameson's name, hunched over his lifeless little body, Rhys hasn't wanted to sleep in that room anymore. I don't blame him. The room isn't locked, like some parents do when a child dies. We still go into the room. Rhys still keeps all of his clothes and toys in there and goes in there to dress. But at night, he sleeps in our bedroom. Every morning, we all wake up and start getting ready for school.
As an interesting sidenote, I have had to totally change my routines as much as I can control. It scares me to think of trying to do things the way I did them before Jameson died. It sounds so trivial, but I can't even set my alarm for the same time I used to. I can't eat the same thing for breakfast. I used to make refrigerator oats almost every morning to take to school for breakfast. I haven't eaten refrigerator oats since.
Instead of waking up at 5:30 AM and getting to school by 7 AM, I put off getting up as long as I possibly can. I get up around 6, maybe even a little later. Dan, Rhys, and I all wake up around the same time and leave the house around the same time. Instead of going into the boys' room to gently wake them both up, I don't go into that room at all in the morning. The morning routine is quiet and serious. It's just something we have to get through.
I arrive at school around 7:30 and I have to make sure my students can't tell how sad I am when they arrive. They know all about what happened, but they rarely mention it. Once in a while, they ask an innocent question that chokes me up. "So....what happened to Jameson?" One student asked this one day when we were learning about the human body. Their other random questions about various ways to die also made me secretly cringe. Can we not talk about death anymore? But they are only 11 years old and very curious about life and death. On another day, I have to explain to a student why I don't want to go to baseball games. She kept asking why I didn't like baseball. I finally told her that it was because Jameson was supposed to play Little League and that it would make me sad to go watch other kids get to play and not him. Little reminders of Jameson creep in throughout the day. A student has Jameson's favorite chapter book on his desk. I see a second grader in the cafeteria who has the same shirt that Jameson has in his dresser.
On the way home, I can cry again and not have to pretend I'm fine. Every afternoon, we spend time out on the screened porch. We avoid chores and cooking, doing the bare minimum after a long day of work. Our existence is quiet and sort of boring. Jameson brought so much energy to our family. If he were still here, I just know that he and Rhys would be spending hours after school outside playing basketball or other sports. I would be going for walks after dinner with him, listening to him chat about everything he did in school that day. It's so quiet without him, and sometimes Rhys gets bored without his brother here to occupy him. We end up on screens a lot more than we used to. Even Rhys spends a lot more time on his tablet or watching TV than when Jameson was alive. I was always so strict about screen time. Nowadays, I don't even bother to monitor it most days, even though it does bother me and I don't want him to get addicted to it.
We don't have much energy to cook meals. Tonight was really the first normal meal we've cooked and it was pretty simple- hamburgers with salad and onion rings. Pretty much every night is a frozen leftovers from the meals dropped off weeks ago, take out, or something super easy to make, like spaghetti or cereal. It's so depressing how we eat nowadays. Actually, my goal for this week is to try to cook a few legit meals. Tomorrow I am going to try to make stir fry or maybe tacos.
Bedtime involves the three of us piling into one room and watching TV until we fall asleep. TV is a good distraction. It numbs the pain for a little bit. I like to watch Dr. Pol, a show about a veterinarian in Michigan. My mom got me hooked on this show several years ago. Jameson used to like to watch it with me sometimes. For a few minutes I can pretend this isn't my life. Instead, I'm tagging along on Dr. Pol's farm calls to check on new calfs or horses.
I've been sleeping pretty well, all things considered. I usually don't wake up until maybe 3 or 4 in the morning. If I'm really lucky, I don't wake up until after 5. I don't even take the melatonin anymore. I haven't taken it in weeks.
Sometime I wish people could see what life is like for me now. Sometimes I'm glad they can't. It's a lonely and dark existence watching everyone else living their normal lives with their families intact.
The other day I made it into work and settled into my classroom. Every morning is horrible, but that morning I guess I was feeling worse than others. As the clock ticked closer to the ringing of the morning bell, I was running out of minutes to pull myself together. I think my coworker, Alyssa, must have walked by her door and noticed me because she came in to check on me. "My life sucks," I said. I've never been one to use that word. I actually hate it. It's a harsh word. But lately, it's how I feel.
Even on the most beautiful of spring days, when the azaleas are in bloom, when I go for a walk and catch a sweet waft of some nearby flowering shrub, even when the sun is setting and casting a golden glow on the mountains, my life feels horrible. It's not even a life, really. More of just an existence. I'm here, but not really living. Even in moments that should be fun, enjoyable, or peaceful, there is a dark cloud, a sadness and pain that never lifts. There is no way to enjoy anything when I can't forget even for a second that my beautiful little boy is gone.
I look back at what life was like before Jameson died. I always used to think to myself how wonderful my life was. I had an awesome family. My husband, kids, and I all had so much fun together. Whether we were all just piled onto the couch cuddling or off on an adventure together, we had a very peaceful, loving family. I always joked that Dan and I hit the parenting lottery. Our two boys were so easy to parent. They were cooperative, respectful, and did amazingly well in school. They were just so much fun to be around. When we moved to the mountains, our lives together got even better. We now live in the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains. We enjoyed hiking, exploring creeks, and waterfalls, and wandering around the shops in our small town. We had such a great life and I thanked God for giving it to us.
Now that Jameson is gone, our family is more like a pile of broken jagged pieces with a bunch of the pieces missing. Those missing pieces brought us giggles, silly singing, corny jokes, and lots of hugs and cuddles. Those missing pieces of our family were Rhys's best friend, his brother who was so close in age that people mistook them for twins.
Here is what a day in the life of our broken pieces of family looks like.
Rhys and Jameson used to share a bedroom, but since Rhys woke up the morning of February 27th to see Dan screaming Jameson's name, hunched over his lifeless little body, Rhys hasn't wanted to sleep in that room anymore. I don't blame him. The room isn't locked, like some parents do when a child dies. We still go into the room. Rhys still keeps all of his clothes and toys in there and goes in there to dress. But at night, he sleeps in our bedroom. Every morning, we all wake up and start getting ready for school.
As an interesting sidenote, I have had to totally change my routines as much as I can control. It scares me to think of trying to do things the way I did them before Jameson died. It sounds so trivial, but I can't even set my alarm for the same time I used to. I can't eat the same thing for breakfast. I used to make refrigerator oats almost every morning to take to school for breakfast. I haven't eaten refrigerator oats since.
Instead of waking up at 5:30 AM and getting to school by 7 AM, I put off getting up as long as I possibly can. I get up around 6, maybe even a little later. Dan, Rhys, and I all wake up around the same time and leave the house around the same time. Instead of going into the boys' room to gently wake them both up, I don't go into that room at all in the morning. The morning routine is quiet and serious. It's just something we have to get through.
I arrive at school around 7:30 and I have to make sure my students can't tell how sad I am when they arrive. They know all about what happened, but they rarely mention it. Once in a while, they ask an innocent question that chokes me up. "So....what happened to Jameson?" One student asked this one day when we were learning about the human body. Their other random questions about various ways to die also made me secretly cringe. Can we not talk about death anymore? But they are only 11 years old and very curious about life and death. On another day, I have to explain to a student why I don't want to go to baseball games. She kept asking why I didn't like baseball. I finally told her that it was because Jameson was supposed to play Little League and that it would make me sad to go watch other kids get to play and not him. Little reminders of Jameson creep in throughout the day. A student has Jameson's favorite chapter book on his desk. I see a second grader in the cafeteria who has the same shirt that Jameson has in his dresser.
On the way home, I can cry again and not have to pretend I'm fine. Every afternoon, we spend time out on the screened porch. We avoid chores and cooking, doing the bare minimum after a long day of work. Our existence is quiet and sort of boring. Jameson brought so much energy to our family. If he were still here, I just know that he and Rhys would be spending hours after school outside playing basketball or other sports. I would be going for walks after dinner with him, listening to him chat about everything he did in school that day. It's so quiet without him, and sometimes Rhys gets bored without his brother here to occupy him. We end up on screens a lot more than we used to. Even Rhys spends a lot more time on his tablet or watching TV than when Jameson was alive. I was always so strict about screen time. Nowadays, I don't even bother to monitor it most days, even though it does bother me and I don't want him to get addicted to it.
We don't have much energy to cook meals. Tonight was really the first normal meal we've cooked and it was pretty simple- hamburgers with salad and onion rings. Pretty much every night is a frozen leftovers from the meals dropped off weeks ago, take out, or something super easy to make, like spaghetti or cereal. It's so depressing how we eat nowadays. Actually, my goal for this week is to try to cook a few legit meals. Tomorrow I am going to try to make stir fry or maybe tacos.
Bedtime involves the three of us piling into one room and watching TV until we fall asleep. TV is a good distraction. It numbs the pain for a little bit. I like to watch Dr. Pol, a show about a veterinarian in Michigan. My mom got me hooked on this show several years ago. Jameson used to like to watch it with me sometimes. For a few minutes I can pretend this isn't my life. Instead, I'm tagging along on Dr. Pol's farm calls to check on new calfs or horses.
I've been sleeping pretty well, all things considered. I usually don't wake up until maybe 3 or 4 in the morning. If I'm really lucky, I don't wake up until after 5. I don't even take the melatonin anymore. I haven't taken it in weeks.
Sometime I wish people could see what life is like for me now. Sometimes I'm glad they can't. It's a lonely and dark existence watching everyone else living their normal lives with their families intact.
2013: Jameson (3 years old ) and Rhys (2 years old)
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