April 23, 2010 at 3:15 am

Next Tuesday will be our first counseling session. Chris and I will go first and then the remaining session will be with Tracey, Casey, Sarah, Grant and my nephew Kyle if he would like to come with us. Maybe this will give us some ideas of what to do now. I don’t even really know how to grieve nor do I know if I am doing it properly. If I catch myself smiling or having a good moment I punish myself inside and ask myself “What the hell are you doing?” I just do not know what to do, so hopefully they can tell me if I am crazy or not and if I am not, give me a little insight on what I am supposed to be doing. I do know everyone does things differently and all of my friends have reinforced that fact in my brain, but it does not stop me from questioning myself. Am I sad enough? Am I too sad? Should I be angry or numb? Am I just in complete denial right now? Would this pain be easier if I tricked myself into believing it was not true? Then someone would really commit me if I walked around talking about Fred like he was in the next room or on his way over to the house. When I leave the house I have a hard time, everything reminds me of the kids and family and things we have all done and just how much I am lost without Fred. I just typed that and re-read it 28 times, and I want to smack myself in the head. I have three other children that need me and love me as much as Fred did. They shared everything that Fred did with me as a Mom, grew up in the same house, and received the same upbringing and attention. All turned out equally as smart, funny, and loving. Every one of my kids tells me that they love me and has told us that since they could speak. They are not afraid to tell us in front of other people, and always give hugs and love to both of us parents whenever they feel like it. We raised our kids to love and to not be afraid of it. Within our family of 6 we have all had our moments, stages, and even battles with each other but it was out of love and we never forgot to tell each other that. We have lost our way, and always made it back on track using our new experiences to strengthen what was already there. We may have lost our way but we never, ever, lost touch with each other. I wrote in the program about how Fred contacted me daily. I am serious, Fred and all of the kids contact me daily and if they miss a day – things are just out of whack. It is not controlling, unhealthy or weird – it is just touch base, say hello, say I love you and carry that with you the rest of the day. It is just how we are and how we have been forever. So, nothing changes in that respect after this tragedy, we just check on each other more now and the question, “Are you ok?” means even more today than it did April 4th. I have tried my best over the years to keep family gatherings alive and have people over to our house. Aunts, uncles, cousins, nephews, etc… I invite everyone that I think would like to come and most show up but some do not. It is important to me. I do not have my grandmother any more, she passed away when I was 19 of ALS. What a horrible way to die, how horribly she must have suffered with her body wasting away but her mind in tact. I remember going to the hospital and being told to say goodbye to Grandma. I was 19, and pretty immature and did not really understand the scope of what was going on. I looked at my Grandma’s eyes and they were fairly bright and moving around but she could not speak or could not move. It is all sketchy after that but I have always missed her and wished she could have known my children. My Grandma Dorsey was to me the glue that kept the family gathering together and it just seemed to get less frequent after she went away. For years that just made me very sad and it almost seemed like our family became a little disjointed and did not get together “as much.” Well for the past three years or so, maybe more, I have tried to have stuff going on at my house and try to get as many people there as I can. And then when other family members have stuff at their house, I become mother duck and try to line up all my ducklings and make sure they are going. April 4th is the last day I saw my son alive, he took his life on April 5th. I replay in my head that entire day, that entire weekend with him. He helped get the girls ready for Easter dinner at my mother’s house and was so proud of them. He told Sophia to keep practicing her letters for Daddy and was swinging Vivian around in the kitchen. At my mother’s house he was his usual loving self, hugging his sisters and hanging on his brother. He helped my Mom with a couple computer problems, made sure we were cutting the roast correctly, colored with the girls, talked with his Dad and Grandpa, gave Casey a hard time and was the Fred we all knew and loved. There was no sign that he would be dead the next day. There was nothing to warn us or give us the thought that Fred was in such pain. The next day Fred went to work as normal, did a good job and even stayed late and talked with manager about his plans for the future and about his girls. He was excited and happy and that was the last person we know that saw him. The events after 8:30 p.m. can only be pieced together by the suicide notes/emails and the coroners estimated time of death. This is where my life is stuck, I am stuck at Easter hugging my son and telling him I love him then hearing my stepdad tell him how absolutely proud he was of him and of what he has done with those girls. That is where I got in the car, and drove away from Easter. I just want to go back and ask him one more time, Are you ok? I want him to tell me, “Mom, no I am not ok, please help me.”