I Lost My Son To Suicide But I Can’t Lose The Trauma

Trauma doesn’t leave you. God, I wish it did. But it doesn’t. I was reminded of that the other day.

I saw that Antwan had changed his little note on his Discord to “Forgive me.” For those who don’t know, Discord notes are like Facebook notes. It’s not to anyone in particular, it’s just whatever the person feels like sharing on a wider level.

Suicide Note?

Either way, I immediately thought, is this a suicide note? Is it happening again? (Suicide And The Ones Left Behind)

I looked at his profile and saw nothing else alarming. I reminded myself that he is fine and went back to work. But it never really left my thoughts. When I got home, I was anxious to make sure he was ok.

I yelled for him. No answer. This is not unusual.

Time To Irrationally Panic

I went downstairs to Brian and asked him if he had seen Antwan. He hadn’t. He quickly joined me in my irrational panic.

I texted Antwan and tried to force my dinner down; telling myself that I was being ridiculous.

He answered that he was fine. Lizzie explained that he was probably referencing an anime.

I was briefly satisfied that it was the Ginley in me (we are worriers) but I had to go see for myself.

Checking On My Son

He was on his computer with his headphones on.

I asked him if he was ok. He said yes. He seemed vaguely annoyed that his crazy mom was interrupting his game. I stared at him for a momnent and thought about the fact that we never really know if those around us are ok, We only know what they share.

I hugged him. He told me again that he was fine.

The What If?

I started to go but couldn’t. I stood in his room, frozen. I was convinced that if I walked out, he would kill himself. I was afraid if I left, I wouldn’t see him again, alive.

Finally, I did leave. I told Brian that he seemed fine. I was still worrying but tried not to think about it.

Then he sent the text that he knew I needed.

My sweet boy.

Life Is Different Now

We don’t have the luxury of assuming things are ok anymore. “I’m sure it’s fine” is no longer realistic. So irrational is sort of rational now.

Every time, (EVERY TIME) I hear a loud thump, I think one of my kids is kicking something out from under them so they can hang themselves in their room. (I didn’t hear the thump when William did that but still, I hear it and imagine how he did it.

My God, how did I become a mother who lost her son? I used to say that I had no idea how a mother would recover from that and now here I am. I have not recovered. I will never recover. I can never really be happy again. I can’t really be ok because how could I be? He’s gone and that’s just that.

The Happy Moments

The other night, I was dancing in the kitchen, a rare occurrence these days but I was really excited to finally have new appliances (that’s another story). My dog was thrilled and bounced around the room with me. I was bopping as I stirred the pasta on the stove. But then I remembered, like I do everytime that I have a moment when I feel like I may be happy.

I think of him.

And I remember that I can’t be happy. It feels wrong; it feels unnatural.

Sure, I have happy moments.

When I see my dogs at the end of the day.

When one of my students grasps a concept.

When my kids join me for breakfast on a Saturday.

When Brian and I watch old episodes of “Who’s Line Is It Anyway” at the end of the night.

Most recently, when I have lunch with a friend.

The friend—–> https://geekmamas.com/

I Want To Scream. I Want To Make It Stop.

But, I don’t think I will ever have peace again. I have several holes in my heart that can not be completely filled. All I can do is try to find ways to make the holes smaller.

I have this rage in my chest all of the time. I understand why my student throws things because I want to throw things, too..

I’m proud of what I have accomplished in spite of it all.

I’m graduating with my Masters at the end of this semester. I am working towards becoming an RBT. I am working on my Autism endorsement and considering applying to the PHD program. (I guess if I am going to pour myself into something, education is a pretty good option.)

He Isn’t Here.

But at the end of the day, I’m still a mom missing one of her children. And I’m a wife who is terrified that she is going to lose her husband too. (My Husband Is Having A Catherization)

I blame myself for William’s death. In some ways, I think I deserve to be punished. But, no. No one deserves to walk in and see their son hanging from his closet door. No one deserves that.

I have discovered how strong I am. That is a silver lining, I suppose. But I don’t want to be strong. I just want my son.