It was a cowards way out. I knew that, but I couldnt stand to be there anymore. I couldn't stand to be around my family or friends. I tried, I really did, but the heart crushing pain was to much to bare.
Everyone told me it wasnt my fault. That accidents happen and I shouldn’t blame myself for all the misery that was caused by one fatal mistake.
I lost so much that day, and through the weeks that followed I successfully pushed away the last people that ment anything to me, until I lived in nothing but a dark hole I had no intention of leaving.
I woke up everyday in the last home my babies little feet would ever walk on. His room went untouched since he last slept in his bed. There were still little fruit loops scattered all over the floor, from when he snuck them in, knowing he would get in trouble for having food in his room.
I knew he did something mischievous every time that devils grin lifted his cheeks and made his eyes sparkle. 3 year old little boys seemed to have a special ability to nip at the very last nerve of their moms.
But god, I relished it when he was the sweet little boy I knew he was when he wasn't getting into trouble. Like when he would sit with me on the old, worn recliner and we would watch movies together. Wrapped in my blanket he would pull from my room, munching on the Extra Butter popcorn, that always seemed to run out to soon. It was the only time he would sit still long enough for me to run my fingers through his unruly, curly brown hair.
He coudnt quite talk yet. Atleast not full sentences, but he would jabber and it would be the most meaningful conversation to me even if they werent real words.
He was so animated and loving. Hugs and kisses were his favorite.
I miss him. God dammit do I miss him.
He was taken from me at 6:37 pm in the hospitals ER. It took 10 seconds, for my world as I know it to completely vainsh, replaced by a cold, numd, dead existence.
It took 10 seconds for his little, perfect hands to grab the knife from the counter, slip...... And then it was all over.
I turned my back to wash my hands of the messy mashed potatoes we loved to mix with our fingers just for the fun of it. That one insignificant move changed my life before I even had the time to comprehend the sick sound of the knife slipping off the counter and into his tiny hands.
I can’t remember most of what happend between that moment and the next when the doctor came out to deliver the worst news a mother could hear.
I could hear my sobs, screams, feel the burn at the back of my throat, the tight heaviness in my chest from just the sight of his little body cold and unmoving. But I couldnt see anything else. I knew people moved all around me. I knew I was being picked up off my kitchen floor and hauled into the ambance with him. I could feel the air move around me as people scurried back and forth.
But I couldn't move my eyes away from him. No matter how much it hurt to see this perfect little creatures life slip from my fingers, I just couldnt. I knew, even if I denied it to the very last second, it was the last I'd see him breathing.
That denial came crashing down when the blood covered doctor walked into the room I had holed myself up in. He didnt say a word to me before I broke down into a heap of useless sobs. I cursed everyone and everything. I screamed to any deity that I thought would listen to my desperate "why's and why him?". My mind was incoherent in my grief and loss. I dont even think I was forming real words.
Ive seen grief before. I was no stranger to losing a loved one and I saw the look of pity and sorrow in his eyes the second he laid his on mine. Even if his face was stoic as he could make it, you can't hide those emotions when a baby barely 3 years old dies in front of you.
Thats all I got with my baby. 3 years. He was perfect, strong and so damn smart anyone would have bet he'd of take over the world when he grew up. His laugh made even grumpy strangers smile. His personality shined though his fearlessness of people. He'd wave and say "Hi" to everybody that he saw, smiling and laughing to him self.
Now hes just.... Gone.
I stayed in my little two bedroom apartment for 2 months before I finally went insane with grief.
It was perfect for the two of us. Walking distance from his daycare, and just 3 blocks and a left on Baker road was his grandma's place. But without him it was like living in my own personal hell.
But I just couldn't take it anymore. I looked at those sad grey walls and saw the memories of his hands prints when we got out the finger paints and decided paper just wasn't good enough. Or the tiny toddler sized dirt stains in front of the sliding glass door when it rained the first time after summer was over. His bedroom door still wide open for me to see disarray of his bed and toys spread around his floor.
Every square inch of that aparement bit and bit at the lonliness and heartache I felt.
No more movie night, no more walks bright and early in the morning before he had to go to preschool. No laughs, no teary nights from a bad dream.
My world stopped moving. Everything was at a stand still and because my feelings were so deep in the darkest pits of loss and mourning the world seemed to darken with me.
The sun seemed to lose its heat, I was always cold. The grass and flowers lost their vibrancy. Relationships with other people became meaningless.
I stopped talking to my friends. Even my best friend that had been by my side since the days of my missing two front teeth and her pig tails and a tutu's at school. I snapped and fought with them all, including my mom. I knew they felt grief just as I did but I was in no mood to care. There sorries and condolences would never bring him back. It would never ease the pain I felt.
No, I locked my door to all who came by, shut my phone off and wollowed in my grief. The suffocation of it started to feel peaceful. Like it hadn't been a dream that I was once a mother. That the best 3 short years of my life really were filled with a real little boy.
I cant tell you what changed. But yesterday I couldn't take looking at those walls of that apartment anymore. So I did the one thing I could think of....
I packed as much as my duffle bag could carry, ripped a few photos off my walls of him and at 3:30 in the morning I dropped a letter and the apartment keys at my mom's and booked it out of town as fast of my old two door pick up could take me.
Now 5 hours into the drive all I could see was vast emptiness. The two lane highway stretched endlessly down the middle of open fields. The only other life out here were the heads, off in distance, of cattle grazing away at the feilds.
I dont know where Im going. I took every last penny to my name from my accounts and cash around the house. It only left me with a few thousand dollars, but I wasnt going to stop until I ran out of gas or hit the coast. Either way I was going to keep moving until I didn't have the funds to do so.
There was no end in sight for me. I had no future to look forward to anymore. No plans of destination. I just had to keep going. And when I had to stop, I’d make some cash, then I'd be back on the road.
No more attachments. No more people in my life. I made that promise to myself the second I left town.
I'd go until I died. No one was going to stop me. I'd make damn sure of that.