In the grieving process of losing my son Alex to an accidental drug overdose, I have started writing a blog as therapy. Not only has it helped me, but from comments received, it let's others know they are not alone and what they feel is sometimes exactly what they are SUPPOSE to feel. Bless you all who find yourselves in my position; I wish you weren't.

Saturday, January 5, 2013

Somewhere, out there, I knew he could hear me. I would say out loud I LOVE YOU, MERRY CHRISTMAS when Adam was in Iraq and he couldn't be home for Christmas. My heart just ached because I always wanted the family all together.  Adam had already emailed us to let us know he could call Christmas eve and it couldn't be long, because so many other Marines wanted the same pleasure; to hear their families voices and wishes for Christmas. Then Adam would call, we would put him on speaker phone after Mark and I had our private moment, and my heart would feel somewhat lightened knowing he was OK and thinking of us, as we were of him. After 4 years, he finally got to be home while he was in the Marines, and I was overjoyed. Alex and Audra were delighted to have him home, and I woke up Christmas morning with a smile on my face and contentment in my heart. To this day, none of them know how many years they would go off to bed, and after staying up late to wrap (a ritual started when we married - ALWAYS wrap Christmas eve) how one last time, before I went to bed I would sneak in their rooms. I would kiss my two fingers, then touch them lightly on their forehead. With the secret out now, I don't know if I will get away with it this year. Now, the feeling is, well, I can't describe the feeling. I KNOW Alex can't call home, and I KNOW he won't be here. It's kinda like starting all over, but not really. But I have a special small box that sits on my dresser, a gift, that holds Alex's picture, and EVERY night I kiss my two fingers and I say GOODNIGHT ALEX I LOVE YOU. It's a ritual I have said out loud since he passed and now what I do since I received the box. And as weird as it may be to some people, it gets me through the night to the next day. Why should I stop saying it out loud? Somewhere, out there, he can hear me.

No comments:

Post a Comment