I spent the ninth anniversary of my son’s death like I have spent the majority of my days this last year…bedridden.
Part of me hates this bed with every fiber of my being, but I’ve been in it for so long that an increasing part of me fears getting out of it. (I’ll save that Shawshank Redemption-esque tale for another day.)
I am not progressing as well as anyone would like.
Butterlump is so big. He is both my delight and my torment. I cannot take care of him like I want and should.
He thinks that his mother being “sick” and in bed is normal. The night before Matthew’s anniversary, he was crying about going to bed and said, “No, not yet! I hurt! I need to take my medication!”
And my world, and heart, broke.
I rounded up all my painkillers, muscle relaxers, everything, and I flushed them down the toilet.
And then I tried my best to prepare for the utter hell that was sure to come. And come it did…with a vengeance. (If you’ve ever gone cold turkey off of high levels of painkillers you’ve been on for a year, you know what I’m talking about, here.)
Jonathan knew what was coming as well…and he was there every step of the way as I battled my way through the utter misery that is withdrawal. We sent the children and the dog away so they wouldn’t see the worst of it. (James left to live with his father at the beginning of the school year. Which I’m still not ready to talk about).
And then he took care of me while we mourned our son and this poison worked its way out of my body. (Side note: after all is said and done I kicked Oxy’s ass. I am extremely proud of that.However, I was pretty devastated to find that am still unable to be completely off meds. The pain is too high for OTC drugs to manage without killing my liver. BUT, they are different, MUCH lower and I start a new physical therapy next week. So there is hope.)
Matthew’s anniversary fell on a weekend, and I spent it with my husband in bed, shaking, sweating, sobbing from feeling like my skin and back were on fire and freezing all at the same time. I’ve lost 25 lbs. since then. Luckily, I had it to lose. (Chrisopher said, “Wow, mom. You look like that chick in Twilight when she’s gestating that demon vampire.) (That made the experience so much more awesome.)
And through it all, he was there.
Like he’s always been.
He warmed me with his body when I was shaking he changed countless sheets and sets of pajamas that I had soaked through with sweat and trying to eat the broth he made for me and drink the water he poured for me
My husband is one of the strongest men on the earth. We have been through hell together….and a whole lot of that hell is my fault.
I looked at him as he tucked my hundredth fresh blanket around me, looked at him as I’ve done for almost 15 years, knowing deep in my soul that even though I was sick, had matted hair and reeked to high heaven from being too weak to shower, that this man loves me. Is still in love with me.
And for the life of me, with everything he knows about me (which is everything) and everything we’ve been through, I don’t know why.
“Why do you stay? Why? I am such a mess.”
“Well you won’t always be. And I don’t want to miss out on how it all turns out.”