June 10, 2010 at 2:41 am

The two month mark came and went. The 5th and 6th of each month, May and June, has been difficult. Not so much more than every other day, but different. We stopped counseling and have been trying to stay busy. We moved Tracey and Casey into their new house, moved stuff out of our house to their house and then pretty much rearranged our entire house. I lost count of the pickup truck loads of stuff leaving the house and it just feels great to have it done. I continue to spiral down, slower now than before and in different ways. I have been putting pictures into photo albums, something I never had time to do before. Picture after picture of smiles and happiness and just wishing I had that again. I cannot imagine happiness without one of my children in anything I do. Today I had the phone company out to redo some wiring. The guy was asking a lot of questions about the grandkids and wondering which one of our kids they belonged to. He did not know Fred had passed away and it was very uncomfortable. I found myself rambling and trying to change the subject and fill the silence, so instead I just left the room.I have decided that suicide is like a big vacuum. It sucks you in and you are stuck inside, whirling around in the bag of dirt. In the case of my vacuum, it is a dirt cup that is clear so you can see when it is time to change it – and you can look out and see the normal life you are no longer part of.At night when I go to bed I take my cell phone and the house phone with me. I got a call, about Fred not coming home, from Grant on April 5th , and then read the emails from Fred on my phone. This is when I woke up Chris, we called Greeley and Lakewood police and started searching for Fred. That night comes to me in dreams, mostly the dreams consist of ways to get the air back into Fred’s body and open his eyes. Fred is talking to me in some dreams and I never know what he is saying, it is frustrating. I still feel guilt, anger and overwhelming sadness but I have this new feeling – shame. Throughout the day my mind wanders and constantly runs through events. Often I flash to the picture in my head of Fred, when and how he was found on April 6th —- when the police finally busted down the door of his new place in Lakewood. Yes, my son took his own life. He committed suicide. He was in so much inner torment and pain that he did not want to live any longer. At the end of racing through everything in my head and feeling every emotion imaginable in short amounts of time…I am left with a feeling of shame sometimes. What did I not give my son, to help him cope and live? What is it that other people think of me, his mother? I constantly interrogate myself while saying “If only…” and then screaming silently…”Why, why, why…..and Oh, Fred……” Now I feel as though the world blames me for my son’s suicide, people judging me as unfit and unworthy. I must have been a lousy parent. Going places it tough, even to our own business in town. Seeing people with their kids, mom’s with their sons, families all together, happy, and whole. Reminders, and triggers are everywhere and in everything. Sitting in the house seems easiest right now with people coming by to see us. It still could be a way of me to wait for him to come home but more than that I think it is a safety zone for me. My emotions are so unpredictable – and it is more comfortable to be a mess at home. While I am so emotionally responsive to my pain and grief….I feel emotionally unavailable to everything else. I feel distant from most everyone and feel that I am grieving alone. My other children need their parents also. This has taken away the confidence I had in giving guidance and assistance to them, mostly because I feel like a failure. I know I am trying to abandon the responsibility – because I do not want to cause another tragedy — I just cannot get rid of the thoughts of I must have done something incredibly wrong at some point. So maybe it is better for me to just back up, stay out of things and let them just happen without me involved. Which also could be best anyway—since Mom is just so sad, that cannot be good for any of them either. Some days are ok, not good but ok…..and then others days are a minute by minute, constant pain, where the only relief is to try and go to sleep anyway possible. I have sat and counted train cars, registered the different train whistles, counted how many different birds were in the yard, made glorious plans of what to get done in a day, tried to read a book, tried to work on business paperwork, thought about going back to school, cleaned out every closet and drawer in the house, and obsessively worried if I sent thank you notes to everyone that I should have. Vivian and Sophia were here this weekend, and of course are so excited when they see pictures of their daddy. In our guest room is a large picture of Fred and Vivian’s face lit up when she saw it. She moved around the bed and said she wanted to go and see her daddy and got right in front of the picture. She turned around and told me that “My daddy talks to me” in her 2 year old voice, matter of factly. I wonder if he does talk to the girls, or if he actually talks or watches over anyone left living without him. You always hear of stuff like that, but it leaves me wondering – then where is he, why isn’t he beside me helping me through this pain? I wonder if Fred would have took his life if he would have known how much it would hurt his family. But how could he not know?