It will be the first of March in another hour. It is Friday night and all I can think of in this silent lonely room is on the sixth of March my son died. A sweet gift from God who must have felt the world crashing in on him…in one sickening second he was gone and all the sorrows he must have bore deep inside were left behind to multiply like a cancer in my own heart and mind.
As much as I think I know…there is so much I don’t know. I have collected on this blog the articles of so many scientific researches about the suicidal brain, articles concerning the theology of the matter, personal testimonies of those who have experienced the dark dance of depression, and now I am engulfed in a cloud of grief borne depression. My spirit is drowning in the deep end of the pool. This must be how my baby boy felt. No air, no air, no air…..
I know I have blogged way too much today but I don’t care. This is what the suffering writer does. Aren’t writers supposed to write about what they know? I know loss. I will be taking a break after the sixth. I won’t blog as much unless there is a need or there is something newsworthy.
Yesterday I delivered the flower arrangement that I made for the altar at the church for this Sunday. I do it every year in memory of Brandon. To me it is like lighting a candle like some people do to remember their loved ones. I make a small flower arrangement to hang on the wall where his niche is at the cemetery. On Thursday, the sixth, I will light a candle and put it by his picture and put the album I made of his life on the dining room table. I have never known anyone in my life who has lost a child. I am the first in our family. I am learning on my own what to do…how to do it.