Rachel Weeping…

“A voice is heard in Ramah, weeping and great mourning, Rachel weeping for her children, and refusing to be comforted,

because they are no more.”-Jeremiah 31:15

I made it through the dreaded day. July 17. Four years.

The autopsy report said you died on July 16th but the day I dread is the day I found your note.

The day I was told that you were gone.

After four years the worst and loneliest truth remains.

I don’t get to know where you are.

And that is torture for a mother who’s most important responsibility for 19 years was keeping tabs on you.

When I was little I had nightmares where I opened my mouth to scream for help and no sound would come.

I feel that in my waking hours sometimes.

Oh, how many times have I swallowed down screams when someone tells me I will see you again.

That doesn’t help me.

I tolerate helpfulness because I am patient and polite but I understand how unhelpful it is.

I don’t think they understand, I can’t find my baby. I don’t know where he is.

He’s in heaven? He’s in my heart? He’s always with me?

I just want to beg them to stop.

I don’t want to play some effed up spiritual shell game.

I just want to be with you now. In this lifetime. I want you where I am.

I don’t know how any of this works.

Nobody does.

Feelings I endure each day include helpless, hopeless, useless, impotent and the two for one mad/sad combo pack that leaves me repellent to almost everyone I know.

And now divorced.

Again.

More loss, God?

Really?

Its so hard to tolerate when someone tries to impose their belief on me that we will all be together again or that there is a god who is is somehow in on this shit show.

I don’t want to hear it because I used to have beliefs too, Now they have been exposed as hollow, fragile, bubbles of hope that have a center that cannot hold.

I can choose any belief I want and I choose nice ones.

But they are no replacement for you my darling sweet boy.

And then there is all the time I get to be alive without you.

Such a long, long time.

Everyday I chose again to live.

Because your dying didn’t do shit, baby.

It didn’t accomplish shit, and I say that with love.

You were a beautiful thing.

The most beautiful thing.

And now this earth is spinning with one less beautiful thing.

And I won’t be shamed because I can’t feel good about that.

And I won’t be shamed because I still need to talk about it.

And that every time I read or hear about another beautiful soul who took this same ugly detour down this dead end road of despair and pain

it feels like another boulder is added to this heavy load I am carrying.

And I still love you. There’s that.

And I always will.

Wherever you are, I hope you know.