The Perks of Being a Wallflower
I heard Max's voice for the first time since he died.
It was a voicemail that I had saved on my phone, recorded 2 days before his death. It took me 610 days to gather the strength to play it. I knew it was there...I knew that he probably said "Hi mama...".
I knew that I could probably hear him say he loved me.
Every day I have thought about that voicemail. Saving it...relishing in the fact that I would be able to hear his voice again. I just didn't have the courage to feel what I knew was waiting for me inside that 20 second message.
Until Mothers Day.
My second without Max.
I walked outside of myself that day, determined to give my own mother a nice day. Tears forming in the corner of my eyes and a smile on my face I spent the most excruciating day of the year trying desperately not to break down.
It wasn't until I left her at home and I was in the sanctity of my car that I broke down.
Actually, it was more of a melt down than a breakdown.
It was Mothers Day and I'm not anyone's mother. Not anymore.
In that moment I had to hear Max's voice...so I played it. The only way I will ever hear my sons voice again. Booming through my car speakers via bluetooth it was Max, loud and clear, like he was right next to me.
Something in the casual nature of his voice, the way he cleared his throat at about 12 seconds in, the way his other line was beeping so he hurried to say goodbye but didn't forget to say I love you...it was pure Max.
For the first time since he died I felt complete loss. It overwhelmed me. This emptiness, loneliness, extreme sadness, is this what they call grief?
I was feeling everything.
All at once.
Misery.
This was pure misery and its been waiting for me since the day Max died.
I pulled into a parking lot and played that message 10 more times.
And I sobbed.
Hidden behind the running events I do, the college courses I'm enrolled in, the house I'm remodeling, the three bulldogs that consume every spare minute I have and everything else I do...is the misery that I push aside every morning when I wake up.
Because I am miserable without my son.
I am functional.
But I am miserable.
I keep myself extremely busy and it's strange to me that people see this as a sign of strength. That I am strong enough to keep moving forward.
It's not strength...it's weakness...because if I slow down I have to remember that Max is really gone so I do everything I can to push that thought out of my head every day.
I've been struggling a great deal the past few weeks. I am agitated, tired, sad...
I want to be left alone and then I am lonely. I am grateful for the good friends in my life and I am angry that my son is gone. I am happy at how I am able to help others facing addiction issues, I am guilty that I wasn't able to help my own son.
This is my life.
It is happy and it is sad.
It is the choice I make when I see the sun every day.
I can be happy or I can be sad or, like most of my days, I can be both.
