It Hurts

I don't quite know how to start this one.

These weeks have been incredibly hard again. And unlike last year at this time, I feel it is quite hard to talk about my feelings with other people as it can't help but feel, to them, that my grief, "is getting old".

For me, more than Spring or January 1, Fall signifies the beginning of the new year. It starts with the people at work --who have high school age kids -- talking about school shopping the last week in August. Then the first day, after Labor Day, and the calls to work which come at 2:30 p.m. Monday-Friday as the kids arrive home and check in with their moms.

Andrew entered first grade this year. He lives next door to me. So I saw both his parents out there with the camera putting him on the bus and waving to him and catching on camera the bus as it drives down Woodland Road. Andrew catches the bus about the same time as I leave the house for work. Each day, I watch as his parents, still the two of them, even though school has been in session a couple of weeks now, put him on the bus and wave goodbye.

And I wince -- a lot -- as this happens.

I have seen Lauren and James and they both drive now and I can't help but wonder what Jeff would have been like behind the wheel. I go to Doug's alumni game and miss Jeff not being there.

We have postponed getting a marker for the gravesite. Jeff's gravesite. I wanted to do it before the first year anniversary of Jeff's death but I couldn't. So John and I met with Haskell Monuments about two months ago and talked about the choices. And I felt like I was going to vomit on the way home.

This past weekend I finally said to John that we should go visit the two cemeteries they suggested we visit if we wanted to see examples of two different kinds of artwork we might want to put on Jeff's gravestone. So Saturday, we drove over to the Mendon Cemetary -- went to two cemeteries as we couldn't find the right one initially -- and using the directions they gave us, once at the right one, we couldn't find the right tombstone. So we called Haskell Monuments and inquired about the directions to the tombstone to discover that we were at the wrong place -- the tombstone was at MACEDON cemetery -- not MENDON cemetery. We went next to Honeoye to see the other tombstone as it was on our way to our friend's house where we were going. We found the cemetery and the tombstone quite easily. And looked at the artwork -- "etching" is what they call it -- and talked about what we thought of it -- then left. About 40 minutes later we were with Ken and Rosemary chatting about flowers that Rosemary had planted this season. The flowers were beautiful. My head and heart ached... I could not possibly wrap my mind around the fact that 40 minutes before we had looked at the flowers, I was looking at a tombstone and critiquing it in order to decide about Jeff's.

On Sunday, we went to MACEDON. We first went to the wrong MACEDON cemetery. Then we found the right one, but having the wrong directions to the tombstone, it took us about 45 minutes after getting there to find it. We looked at every blasted row of headstones and I prayed to Jeff that we find it this time around as coming back would be way way way too hard.

John found it. You take the only entrance in and go straight. You take your fourth (not first) right and six headstones down on the right is the headstone of a young lacrosse player with a "flat carving" of him in his lacrosse garb. It was a nice headstone. They had those lights which you put on the side of your walkway to light up the path at night -- beside the headstone. I liked that as well. So we drove away. We were both quiet for awhile -- quite awhile -- until I reminded John that we had to go to Walmart to pick something up.

Doug called while we were at Walmart and it ended up that he came home for several hours. I had one of the best -- no actually THE BEST -- conversation I have had with Doug since he was a young adult. He told me of two escapades of he and his friends -- the details of which I can not repeat -- because I was sworn to secrecy to not talk about them to anyone. Doug talked about school. And he talked about one of Jeff's friends and he talked a bit about Jeff even. We pondered who really Jeff's best friend was and I decided that it was Doug. When Doug left, I secretly thanked Jeff for yet another sign -- or so it felt. Seeing Doug warded off any possibility of my sinking any lower that day.

Monday I went to work and of course it being a Monday I was asked more than once how my weekend was. How do you answer that question? I could not possibly answer it the way that I wanted to. So I put on my mask and went about working that day. Last night, with John, I loaded up clothes to give away in my car to take them to Salvation Army. As we were loading up both of our cars for the trip I happened to open one of the bags of clothes and saw it full of Jeff's shirts. Oh My God, how could I have possibly thought about giving away Jeff's shirts!!!

I responded to the site of those clothes like I had wanted to respond to so very often during the past few weeks -- I responded who I ought to have responded in the
morning after the fourth colleague asked me how my weekend was. I started crying and simply never wanted to stop. I cried for school starting without Jeff, I cried for Jeff never being able to drive, I cried for me never being able to see him drive, I cried for the shorts he wore on the day he died that I found in a corner of D's room all torned up and rolled in a ball. I cried because Jeff was the last boy I had put on a school bus -- whose picture getting onto the bus I had found several weeks ago. I cried for Jeff not being at Doug's fall lacrosse game. I cried for the previews of 24 that I saw on TV last week that reminded me of how often Jeff, John and I loved to watch the show together. I cried for not being able to take Jeff clothes shopping for school (he was always such a pain in the butt about this chore also) and I cried because I would never again receive a call at 2:30 p.m. from a young boy/man telling me that he was home from school.