DAY AFTER DAY

This post shows a painting I did seven months after Christian's death.  It depicts what my everyday life became after he left us.  Every day blended together.  Things that once filled my days no longer were of any importance whatsoever.  I had no desire to do any of those things.  I would either sit on my porch swing on nice days or in the kitchen dining area looking outside at my bird feeder and the birds with a cup of coffee or a glass of some type of iced beverage (I do love ice).  Some days I would devote to my journaling or my artwork.  Other days I would throw myself into some elaborate cooking project or maybe I'd spend hours on Facebook.  Anything to fill the long hours of each day. 

My primary physician thought under the circumstances that anti-depressants were a good idea.  Unfortunately they robbed me of emotions that I probably needed to be feeling.  There is a fine line between medicine helping and hindering.  But whatever the cause - medicine or grief, I found myself in this surreal place looking out at life and the living and finding the effort to join them just too hard.  I liked instead my solitude.  It was a comfortable, warm place to be.  Solitude and memories.

DAY AFTER DAY

I don't remember what every day life was like or what I did before you went away.  I vaguely remember designing and sewing children's clothes to sell on Artfire (Tea Party Fashions)  or making my Victorian art dolls (Bayou Bunnies) to sell on Etsy.  It's all a big blur.  Its only been seven months but it seems like an eternity ago somedays and just yesterday on others.  Memories of you crowd everything else out.  You were such a big part of my day - having breakfast together, talking, laughing, watching television - it is hard for me to imagine that we actually watched all those reality dating shows; but it was so much fun and we laughed so hard.  Most evenings you were on the computer watching movies - were they pirated? when I wanted to be on also.  Somehow you always managed to charm me into letting you have your way and stay on.  Your reasoning: daytime computer use was mine and evening use was yours. Kind of like Patrick thinking daytime TV (which I hate) is mine and evening television choice is exclusively his (really? how many reruns of Antiques Road Show must I be forced to sit through?)  It must be a crazy man thing.

Remember how upset you would get with my lack of computer knowledge.  You hated it when I questioned everything you told me;  then after a lengthy explanation, I couldn't grasp or remember what you said.  Yep.  You didn't like that.  It was one of the few times that you lost patience with me. What a grump you could be.

Sometimes you were uploading music; or sometimes you had your headset on singing as loud as you could along with the music.  Maybe it was just the style of music, but I think all within hearing distance would probably have been grateful if we had invested in singing lessons for you.  My goodness it could be bad - terribly, unbelievably off key.  But it always make me smile because it was so enduring.  So good at everything - except singing.

I loved it when we went places together.  We had such good times ..... sharing meals and generally just enjoying each other's company.  It could be the resort at Alderbrook (outside on the deck on a warm summer day) or El Scrape (sharing a Mexican pizza on a rainy day.)  It didn't really matter.  When Bobby wasn't available or we just wanted to be alone, you took me to my doctor's appointments and like Bobby  you waited patiently, never complaining no matter how long it took.

And I went with you to court when you had to go.  Those were some long, long days - especially if we were going to the courthouse in Shelton (which we usually were).  Who knew that pushing a doctor's arm down was a felony? My goodness they could drag a case on and on and on.  It was almost a year wasn't it?  But eventually the doctor dropped the charges and you beat it with only a minor misdemeanor.  But that misdemeanor could be upgraded to a felony if you got into any more trouble or possessed a firearm.

Then there was the ticket for the cracked windshield in the city of Fife that you were fighting.  Remember how people use to think you were an attorney and stopped you to ask for advise.  You were always the best dressed man in the court room.  Bar none.  Even though you had perfect vision you would wear those stylish little wire-framed glasses because you thought they made you look more professional - and they did.  And, as was your nature,  you were also the most polite person there.  Sometimes overly polite.  That, too, would make me smile.  I was always so proud to be your Mom - regardless of the circumstance.

You had so many, many friends and so many, many phone calls.  Usually from girls but also from people in the entertainment industry that you met in New York or Las Vegas or in California or friends from "the jet set crew".  I was so impressed when a big-name entertainer or DJ or producer called you.  But it was all those other folks that meant the most.  Kids that you had grown up with that were no longer kids - but that is how I remembered them and this is what they will always be to me.  There were new friends too that became my friends - extensions of the family.  Like Steve.  Even though you thought he had betrayed your friendship in the end.  Real, unreal?  I don't know.  What I do know is that you had a lot of friends that loved you very much.

At times you were so angry - usually at Bobby and Ashley or Patrick.  There were times that I thought I was going to go crazy if the two of you (you and Bobby) didn't stop arguing and trying to insert me into the middle of the argument - trying to force me to take sides.  Those weren't good times. Especially at the end.  There were so many things, so many pressures, so many demons you were dealing with.  Depression being your greatest adversary.  Your brain had been damaged from your suicide attempts and you could no longer distinguish reality from fantasy.  Most of your anger and frustration came from that.  But through it all we still had the greatest love and respect for one another.  We even managed to find humor where others would not have.

Then one day, suddenly, you were gone.  It left a big gaping hole in my world, in my life, and in my heart.  My days are so empty and they all blend together.  Day after day I do the same things.  Day after day, over and over again.  Without my newly developed attempts at art and my journaling, I don't know what I would have done to fill my days.  I feel as though I'm on the inside looking out.  Things that I use to find pleasure in, I no longer do.  But I guess that is alright because I don't really want to go out - just rarely.  I like being alone.  I love it when your sisters come for a visit but, with the exception of Bobby, Ashley, and of course Patrick, I don't especially want to interact with people.  It takes too much effort.  Isolation is my friend.  It is also dangerous, however, because it becomes habit forming.

I use to love to go onto Facebook and try to be humorous and interact with people that way.  It was also a good outlet for sharing my thoughts and feelings and art with other survivors of suicide.  Their friendship and wisdom has helped me over some terribly rough spots.  Their feedback indicates that I've helped some of them too; but lately I don't want to do that either.  I just want to be alone in my loneliness.  Oh well.