It's September 3. It's been 2 months since Cody died. And no matter how many times I say it/write it/see it, it still seems somewhat surreal. I have caught myself more than a few times thinking, "I should be hearing from Cody." We talked pretty often. Once a week most of the time, but never more than 2 weeks would pass without hearing from him.
But Cody died.
My son died.
I will never get to hear him laugh again.
I will also never have to worry about Cody again. I'm a mother. I worry about my children sometimes. I worried a lot about Cody for many different reasons over the years. But he's gone. There is nothing to talk about. Nothing to give him advice about. No long conversations to have about addiction, stress, drinking, money, darkness, or frustrations of being an adult. No help to give and no more lending an ear or a shoulder. The mother-child relationship as I knew it with Cody is gone. Forever. It's probably the hardest of all emotions to NOT have right now...worry....because it means I have this heaviness that isn't associated with the emotion it normally is. It's different. And difficult. And uncomfortable. And painful. I'm left with questions and assumptions and knowledge about things that hurt me deeply. It's the difference between grief and stress....the absence of worry.
I will also get to process this devastating loss with my husband, the other person who intimately knows my sorrow. He knows my sadness. He knows my grief. This damn grief that still comes in enormous waves with little warning. Or no warning at all. We are working through it. Talking through it. And I'm writing through it. And putting together 27 puzzles on that stupid app. I've made it through 2 months. Next it will be 3 months. Then 4.
Then it will turn in to 5 months. 5 months from July 3, 2016.
July 3, 2016.
The day Cody died.
15 hours ago