Aging Anxiety Bereavement Family Health Midlife Moms Parenting

What Did I Do Wrong?

July 16, 2017

Here I am, on my usual bench, on a summer Sunday in July, staring at my handsome man.  His eyes stare back in an almost supernatural way, animated yet piercing.  

Piercing with a force that cuts through the mundane.  Piercing with a force that makes me smile back. 

His happy smile greeting me like a long lost friend. 

I miss him so much.  

His father is home trying to understand his own feelings, and Anthony’s brothers are out, trying to recapture their youth.  So here I sit, alone, wondering how our life came to all this.  

My life is a constant, deep longing that results in a pit in my stomach, followed by half-human interaction.  The world will never know what I can truly be, because I can never be truly part of this world again. 

Knowing that your life will never be truly complete, truly joyful, is one hell of a way to live.  I don’t wish this ugly fate on anyone.  

My Priest says that suffering is part of religion and faith. But why was I given suffering and longing as my fate?  What did I do wrong in my life to deserve an eternal sadness?

What did I do wrong that requires me to now sit here on a bench of solid wood and read the name Anthony Robert, 1991-2016, over and over again?

This smell inside the mausoleum today is nauseating. Flowers should all be silk indoors, and yet people continue to bring natural blooms that wilt and eventually foul. The people don’t come often enough to remove the flowers before they turn.  As a result, standing water in vases invites annoying bugs. Swatting the flies releases the occasional wind gust.  Not enough to calm my anxiety, a few more minutes and I will have to go, another complaint call to the office will follow.  

I am alone here. On my bench, staring at my boy.  Solitary confinement, in a room full of death and remembrance.  Sunlight cascades in from the walls of windows and skylights. Effervescent yellows and gold dance on the tile floor.  

Sunlight should be pretty and warming, however combined with the smell of the rotting flowers, it’s now a sad part of my punishment. My eternal sadness. 

I don’t know what I did to deserve this life.  I can’t change it. But I so wish I could.  I would gladly start my life over.  With nothing. Just Anthony, Lou and Me.  I would go back 25 years and love him fully and make sure had the opportunities to live and love that are now forever gone. 

I would make sure his brothers and father knew how to take care of each other, and of me.  

None of us know how to feel anymore.  

The epitaph on Anthony’s stone reads “Always In Our Hearts.”  It should read “Always In Our Broken Hearts.”

My soul is torn in two, my heart into 3 separate pieces, nothing can ever mend the torn fabric of the loss of my precious child.  


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