Sunday, April 27, 2014

To Know The Answer... I Will Have To Go Into Darkness

To Know The Answer... I Will Have To Go Into Darkness
By Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee

Tommy's Plant...

My head began hurting instantly; my heart began to race.  I began to feel panicky.  Why?

It dawned on me something I hadn't remembered for the past 3 years.  Now... to know the answer... I know only one way to find it.

I don't know if I can... I don't know if I can bear to open Tommy's Chest.  This is something I've avoided doing.  I think I did it once since...

Grieving takes one's memory away... it's too hard to go through the murky depths of one's mind... especially into the dark waters of the ocean of ... grief.

I am sitting here, trying to write about what happened earlier today.  I promised I'd always write, tell you when grief came looking for me... out of the blue.  Today... it has... but, in a strange, unexpected way.

I was sitting here at my desk... looking at Tommy's plant.  The strange thought came to me... this plant was at the funeral home the last night I saw Tommy... resting in the ...coffin.

My mind instantly conjures up a vision...   I'm standing at a distance in a big room... a box is sitting in front of the back wall... a bright light is shining down ... I look out of my periphal vision... I can't look full-face at it... something in the long box.  I can't bear to look....

I'm floating around like a leaf on a current of rushing water.  I float wherever the water takes me... the wind blows me... I stop when it stops... I move when it blows me... here... there.  Shock; grief... I can't remember... fleeting visions of something I can't bear to remember... see... in my mind.

Sounds of many people... like a party going on.  Smiles on people's faces... they are glad to see each other.  They spoke to me... smiling.  Didn't they know... Tommy was dead?  Tommy was gone?  Did the medicine make me smile back?  What did I do that night?  Did I become invisible... invisible like the wind?  Did anyone even see ... me?  I couldn't see ... me...

I thought I knew the date... of that night.  Chills went over me... I can't remember something I should know!  I know my son died on May 29, 2014... but, what is the date... the last time I saw... him?

I remembered... Tommy's body was sent to the medical examiner's... for an autopsy.  I just can't remember for... how long.  I feel sick.  My thought was, is... 'oh, my God'...

I can ... not ... go to Tommy's Chest, just yet.  I just can't do it.  To know the answer to the last moment I actually saw my son... I would have to open that lid...

Take out contents... Tommy's things... to find some papers to see the date.  I can't.  His autopsy report is in there... I know I would have to look at it.  It hurts just too bad.

Tommy died with two blockages to his heart... at the young age of 40.  Tommy used to joke me about not knowing how old my son was.... strange... when he died... I always remember... he was age 40.

My son... that's my only child... that's the only baby I ever had... and he's gone.  He's really gone...

There are... there are... there are photos in a little box.  My stomach feels sick, now.  I want to look at them... I just can't do it now.  I would see... something no mother should ever have to see.  A mother should never-ever outlive her son.

In that box... are photos...

Those 'birds are fluttering in my stomach again... panicky, trying to get out of their cage'.  I feel shaky, weak.

This is what happens to a mother when grieving for the loss of her child.  It happens completely 'out of the blue'... unexpected.  It just happened to me... today.  I still feel the effects.

To know the answer... I will have to go into darkness.  I just can't... right now.
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1 comment:

  1. People should understand why you cannot open Tommy's chest. I don't know if I could open my child's chest if I lost her like you lost your son. I remember the night of family night at the funeral home. There were a lot of people there and they were talking and smiling. I am thinking the medication the Dr gave you made you smile at people. You told me it's ok and everything was going to be alright. I don't know what all was going on but I do remember that. Love, Ms. Nancy