It has been a long time since I have been in the mood to blog. It sometimes just takes too much emotional energy to write. I have learned how to live day to day, survival mode, not letting my mind drift into the horrific details of the past. I miss Trevor every day, every moment, all the time. I usually don’t let my mind drift into the details of how he died. I can’t, it hurts too much and makes me want to crawl into a ball and not move.
There are moments though that sneak up on me and take me by surprise. The emotions flood to the surface and the pain is as sharp and real as it was September 3, 2009.
A few weeks ago I had to drive my grandmother to the ER with chest pains. The very same ER where Trevor was taken. I knew this and tried to ignore the emotions and memories that were starting to surface. When we got to the ER waiting room my mom and aunt were there to take over. Being stubborn, I stayed, thinking I could handle it, swearing I was strong enough.
As we were being escorted to the back to where my mom-mom would be treated, the memories and pain started. The small 2 minute walk seemed to take forever. And the memories started to flow:
I walked past the small waiting room they first stuck me when I got to the ER that day. I remember falling on my knees and screaming…the nurse who came and escorted me to where Trevor was knew me, she said “I know you, this is your miracle baby, you had cancer and didn’t think you could have children”. That sweet lady, I still don’t know who she was, but she knew me, and she took me to my baby.
We went left this time instead of going straight, I took a deep breath and thought, ok, I can do this. Then we went around the next corner and into my mom-mom’s “room” in the ER. And there it was, right in front of me, the very room Trevor was treated in was just a few rooms away. The room was empty but for some very strange and eerie reason, the light was on. There was the bed, empty.
It was like living in a flashback…
· The countless doctors and nurses
· The unnerving silence.
· Trevor’s little body on an adult size bed
· The nurse squeezing the bag, keeping oxygen flowing into Trevor’s unresponsive body.
· Trevor’s lifeless eyes, his cold little hands – he didn’t move when I talked to him, didn’t turn to me when I said his name, didn’t open his eyes when I sang to him, didn’t smile at me like he always did.
· Children’s Hospital arriving to take him by helicopter
· The look they gave each other when they examined Trevor’s eyes.
· The staff telling me I couldn’t ride in the helicopter with him.
· The gasp of my family and friends when they saw Trevor being taken away.
All of these memories flooded my brain. I stood there, frozen, staring at that room – the tears started to flow. My mom and aunt hugged me and said to go, they would be fine.
I left, made it to my van, and lost it. Crying and weeping , the kind I don’t let myself do often. There was no stopping it. The reality of it, my son was dead and not from natural causes, or an accident or disease, but murder. My child….murdered….intentionally hurt…..bruises, retinal detachment, head trauma, blunt force trauma NOT an accident.
My 9 month old baby boy was murdered - Like an elephant on my chest making it hard to breathe.
I called Dominic who calmed me down and talked me back to a calm state of mind and I was able to drive home. I love that about him.
I pulled into the driveway and walked up the back steps and there before me were 2 frogs. They didn’t hop away when I came. They just sat there and looked right up at me. Those of you who know me, know just what frogs mean to me. My Trevor frogs.
PTSD – Post Traumatic Stress Disorder – I don’t think I really believed in it until Trevor died. This particular day it came on like a beast, rearing its ugly head.
I am no expert on grief nor am I the poster child on how to deal with grief, I just deal with it the only way I can, little by little one moment at a time.
