I get so tired of crying when I talk about my son. I want to get to that point where I am more at peace…that I can describe him and just smile. I do have those moments at home from time to time.
But not around people. Waiting for tires on my car last week, the lady beside me starts up a conversation. She tells a cute story about her grandkids. I smile. She asks me if I have grandkids. I’m never going to have grandkids…I think it, but don’t say it out loud. I say no and look down. I wasn’t prepared…I don’t want to cry right now; I just want to get stupid tires on my car, and I’ll probably never see this nice woman again, so why do I have to share? She sees that I am uncomfortable. She asks if I have children.
Damnit.
I used to brighten up at that question. Now I pray they won’t ask. I’m not ashamed…I just don’t want to cry AGAIN.
I respond with what I hope will stop more questions:
“I had a boy and a girl; they grew up and moved out, and I changed the locks so they can’t move back.” (with a convincing sarcastic smile). That’s true…except for the lock part. I say it like I did when I was a brand-new empty nester…14 years ago. It was funny then… now it’s my go-to answer in hopes there won’t be more questions.
I’ve noticed people really don’t want to listen…they just want to be listened to, and I’m good with that. I’m tired of crying, even though I fine-tuned my answer over the last eight years…
My son passed. It was an accidental overdose. My son was amazing, but he was poisoned by synthetic fentanyl and passed away. I miss him every day. My son, Andrew, lived to be 26. He was my mini-me, my favorite person.
I still can’t type the “D” word next to his name. It just destroys me, so I use ‘passed away’. I can handle that one better.
Tonight, I connected with my very dear best friend from childhood. We lost touch as young adults, for no particular reason. We found each other on Facebook tonight. I was so excited to get to talk with her. I genuinely wanted to hear everything about her life, her hubby, and her adult daughters that clearly inherited their mother’s beautiful smile. She shared and I kept asking questions.
I referred to ‘my kids’ in general. I didn’t say male, female, names, or ages. She didn’t ask. I know she will. If I don’t get brave and say it first, she will eventually ask.
By saying it first, I take control of the narrative…I still cry but I’m talking over the expected ‘gasp’, and then I continue talking over them as they are saying “Oh, my god, I’m so sorry,” I still get choked up but it’s not as bad if I say it first.
But tonight, I just felt relieved that she didn’t ask, and I didn’t get choked up. I know my Andrew understands. I don’t feel guilt or shame…I just get tired of crying.
Some thoughtless people start asking more and more questions. When did he pass, where was I then, what drug was he addicted to; that makes me instantly angry. I feel like the car wreck that people slow down to see… it’s not concern when they ask those specifics… it’s so they can justify the event. Like trying to figure out what type of addict he was so they know whether to care or dismiss him! It’s to help them decide if I was a bad parent simply based on his drug of choice!
I’ve had people ask me which drug he used, and my typical response is “It doesn’t matter, he wasn’t trying to die that night, he was poisoned.” Yeh, but was it needles or alcohol or what? I finally decided that when I get one rude question like that then THEY are going to be subjected to what I WANT to share.
I get out my phone and go to the “Andrew” album where the first photo is my favorite, and show them his beautiful face and say, “Let me tell you how he lived.”
“He was my person, we understood each other, same jokes, same movies and music. We even liked the same hair care stuff.
His face would light up when he saw a baby! He inherited that from me! He loved talking with the elderly. If I suddenly turned and he wasn’t there, I would find him talking to a “grandma or grandpa” asking questions about their life and laughing. I would tell him “Meet you here in 20”. And many times, he would still be talking and listening in that same spot. What teenager does that, lol?
At his memorial, so many friends said the same thing:
“If it weren’t for Andrew, I wouldn’t be in the band I’m in now.”
“He introduced me to all my friends.”
“I’ve never met a friend like him, he really listened whenever I was down.”
“I’m a better person because Andrew was my friend.”
I try to remember that even extremely judgmental people are still learning and growing…
I know I’ve said some really stupid stuff in my life and sometimes people put me in my place. Maybe they will think twice the next time they judge a grieving parent. I swear I feel Andrew smile at me when I’m brave like that. He was my biggest fan and supporter.
I will probably always get choked up talking about my beloved son.
Ok. He’s worth every tear I shed for the rest of my life. He’s still my son and I’m still his Mommy. That will never change!
My relationship with Andrew is just that…MY relationship with MY Andrew. I never needed anyone else to qualify that before, so I don’t need anyone to qualify it now. I don’t need family members to reach out on his birthday or the day he passed. It would be nice…but I quit hoping for it…and I feel more peaceful letting go of that expectation.
Thank you for listening.
I truly don’t think I could have survived without the parents here. You are my tribe and I value you. If I’ve shared something that rang true for you, then hold it. If it doesn’t ring true for you, then let it go.
I do not grieve alone. I know we walk this path of grief together.
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Wow I could have written this story in some ways.
How Ian D is irrelevant i think. He’s just did.k will never really know why or how, but that he’s not here anymore.
Ian was like Andrew in do many way.
Perhaps they are friends in the Universe.
Ian of the Universe.
This month is his birthday.
Michelle
Ian’s Mom.
Thank you for sharing. I can easily relate to the sincere apologies when people find out you lost your child and the heartbreaking questions that follow. I am grieving over the loss of my baby boy, Dominic, going on 11 weeks and 2 days now. The doctors kept saying how “lively and strong he is and not to worry.” My husband and I feel like we were played as fools for being so trusting. Like it was some universal joke that we were not aware of. Dominic died 10 days before he was due, and I still feel guilty because he was in my womb for a good part of the day before I realized something was wrong. It is difficult to go out in the world and try to do the everyday tasks that need to be done, including taking care of the bills. So many times, I have had those moments where I hold my breath knowing someone is going to look at my postpartum belly and ask me when is my baby due and then comes the guilt and sincere apologies when they see the sadness wash over my face. I know they mean well, but the following questions are not necessary, and it makes it worse where I feel the tears roll down my face and I feel hot and uncomfortable all over and I get angry at them for asking such questions. I am not one to cry in public. I understand what you went through is not the same as what I am going through, but I can relate to parts of your grief. So thank you for sharing, Andrew.