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Sunday, July 01, 2007

10 Months

I've tried to post my thoughts at each month mark since Jack died and have not been able to stop crying to see the words that I was typing and what's worse is I have to do this at work because that is when my mind wanders, that is when I have time, that is when I feel the most alone.

I can't even comprehend that it's been 10 months. I've heard remarks from people I work with like, "You're OK now, you've dealt with that by now, right?" I generally stare back at them with a "What kind of fucktard are you?" look on my face. I try so hard to be nice and occasionally I'm able to say something like...."Taking it one day at a time". But then I feel like an alcoholic telling someone how it feels to be sober. If it were only that easy!

Is it that impossible to comprehend that having your child die isn't something you Deal with, Check-mark and File away in the completed box? It's not like taking a puppy home and having it die the first night. YA that's sad, but you get over that, you move on. This was my son, my first born, my baby boy, My Jack. I wanted him from the time I was a baby myself. You can ask my mom, I always had to have my babies with me, couldn't wait until I could have 20 of my own. Yeah, 20 kids! I wasn't planning on giving birth to all 20 but at least the first 6 or so and then I planned to adopt all the others. I'm having deja vu, have I written this before?

When I was six, my baby brother Christopher was born and my mother had to pry him out of my arms. "He was my baby!", I would tell her. She tried to trick me by making me a doll and naming it Christopher so she could have her son back, but that didn't work. I bathed him, dressed him, fed him...I raised him. As he got older I even tried to mold him into someone like me by picking out his clothes and telling him what music to listen to. Obviously that didn't work out, but I eventually accepted that he was a cowboy and likes country music. I love you Billy Boy!

Before I met Jory, I met a guy who is commonly known as "Asshole". Sara and I met up with him and his friend in Ogden and after an awkward minute of chit chat we jumped in our cars and followed him to a party as originally planned. In the car Sara and I discussed how he was not my type and how I wasn't remotely attracted to him at all. And within that first hour of meeting him, he was pulled over and arrested, well he was eventually let go with a ticket. Normally this is where the girls turn and run from this crazy scumbag, but since we were pulled over right out front of the party, I figured, we could go in and mingle for a bit, maybe we could find some HOT Guys! Once we got inside and scouted the room, finding no hot guys I figured I'd be polite and tell "Asshole" we were leaving. After talking for a few minutes I realized we didn't have much in common, it seemed he was telling me what I wanted to hear and I'm sure he noticed I was looking to bolt. So he pulled out his saving grace, his Trump card...a picture of his daughter. Sabrina Gabrielle was 2 years old. I fell in love with her picture and his story about being a single dad. I wanted so much to be a mother, I hooked up with a guy I didn't really like. After the first week together, he was kicked out of his parent's house (another sign I should have run) and I was already homeless (a whole other story) so we ended up in a broken down VW bus for a few months, when that was taken away we stayed in tents, his sister's house, the park, up the canyon, in a friend's car (Thanks Eric!) where ever we could find a place to stay. I stayed with Asshole too long...all because of this precious little girl! She started calling me mommy really quick in the relationship, which I really liked, but knew wasn't right. We didn't know where this was going, how long it would last, her best interested was my number one priority. Long story short...I kicked him to the curb, took care of Sabrina alone (he was going to give me custody of her while he cleaned up his life and he didn't want his parents to take care of her) until I dropped her off at her grandparents house for the weekend as I had done a few times before. "Asshole" was still "working" on getting me custody when I went to pick her up and they weren't there. Needless to say, I never saw her again.

To this day, I still have every bit of clothing she had, every toy, absolutely everything. I had accepted that I would never see her and tried to return her things, but not even "Asshole's" sister (who was sort of a friend) would oblige. At 18 years old, I was willing to give up everything for that little girl. Occasionally I would drive by his parent's house, hoping for a tiny glance at my little princess. The same cars were in the driveway, but I never ever saw her again. She'd be 12 years old now. I only had a year with her, but I was with her every moment of every day, she was my life. It's like having your child kidnapped, except it wasn't really your kid so you can't do anything about it. Her birthday is September 23rd, every year on that day, I wonder what she looks like, if she's OK, would she even remember me. I miss my 'Brina.

I don't know what my point is, other then I miss Jack. 10 months or 10 minutes, I miss him. A moment without him is heart wrenching. My heart hurts today, just like it did yesterday, as it will tomorrow. All 10 months means, is his one year anniversary is coming up very soon. We had planned to go to Moab and spread some of his ashes on his 1 year, but with the new job I don't know if Jory will have the time.

For those of you who have asked about "a little bit of Jack" I planned on sending out back in's coming. The new house and moving and the hurt hand all delayed the project. I promise it will be sent soon, hopefully before August.

Love you Forever Jack!

1 comment:

jayedee said...

bless you sweetie. i hope the days are getting easier for you. i lost my son to suicide nearly 3 years ago and i'm just now to the place that i am reasonably sane. i don't know how YOU feel, although i have the pain of my own loss so i do have some empathy for you and that the passing of time will at least blur the edges of the hurt a little.

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