In the Middle of the Storm

Hey, you.

*long, heavy, dramatic :) sigh*

Wow. What a freakin' week. It's not even Friday yet and I am out of my head exhausted.  However, another glass of this merlot and some junk-purging is more appealing that sleep.

I don't even know where to start, and I'm even inclined not to try to recount all the details, but I thought it might be cathartic to at least give a brief rundown. I would love to write elsewhere but I'm afraid of sharing awful details on a public forum, when it's not really my story to tell.

I would write about this:

My son's father is dead. I haven't been married to him for 16 years, but I spent a good deal of my life and love on him when I was younger. Our relationship was tenuous at best, horrifying and destructive at its worst, from the day it began to the moment he died, three days ago.

He didn't just die, though.  He committed suicide.  He shot himself in the head in his backyard, where anyone - namely our 17 year old son - might find him.  He left awful "suicide" notes that said things like "one can only take so much rejection", for people like his son (who secretly adored him), his girlfriend (who loved him).  The mess he left was, of course, visible and physical and unconscionable...the mess his girlfriend found when she discovered him there that morning. But it goes so far beyond the cleaning up of blood and shattered flesh.

The emotional mess he has left behind for my already volatile son, the financial and logistical mess left to his surviving family (my son and me), and the new relationship that are being forceably forged, out of sheer necessity, by my son and me.

Maybe that's a good thing, in a way.  That this has brought M and I back together, after so long apart. I guess. Mostly it's just so fragile. I'm afraid of what I might say or not say that could set him off. I already managed to ratchet him up to a mid-anxiety state in the funeral home today, to the point that J felt it necessary to tell me to, basically, shut up. I'm terrified to talk to him now. This could all go sideways in the blink of an eye.  I feel like I've learned nothing in the year we've had to "cool off" - within days I am already pushing his buttons.

And, it is very hard for me to sit aside and watch him be mothered by other women - his cousin, his dad's girlfriend - to have to allow them to comfort him when I so desperately want to fill that role again. I sit apart from him at the table, while his cousin holds his hand, the gf rubs his back. When questions are asked of him, he looks to them for answers, not me.

And I realize that it's not even my place, even if he would let me. I'm not in this picture anymore; I have nothing to share with him that will comfort him right now.  And yet, there is something not right about it.  If this were JJ, no other women would come between my son and me, regardless of my "place" in the situation. I realize that I am too late, that the damage that has been done to my relationship with M is permanent.  Not because we could never build a new one, but because the one I should have had, could have had, can't be fixed. He's all grown up now and the chance to be his "mom" - the way I feel I am to JJ - is gone.

And, in all my maturity, I blame K for much of that loss.  I blame him for the things he told M over the years that no kid ever needs to know about his mother - thing that leave scars, and no room for redemption. For trash talking me and working against me at every turn when I tried to be a good parent and do what was best for M. For pitting us against each other in ways that are so absurdly self-serving it's hard for people to understand who have not had to navigate through his insane mentality.

I am so full of hatred and bitterness that has stewed for 16 years and now feels like it is being ignited to a million times its intensity.  Now I am angry, on top of it.

I know, I wasn't the one to find his body.  I'm not the one he left behind to answer the thousand "why" and "was it my fault?" doubts that must be crawling through the minds of others.  I have no battle with that; I'll be damned if this was my fault, and to be honest, I don't really give a shit why.  Instead, I am left to try to hold all the broken pieces together after he's destroyed everyone.

Selfish, huh? That I even think to feel put upon by this.  But I do. Suddenly, and without warning, I am in full custody of my estranged kid; at first, it was a blessing in disguise. Now, I am nervous and anxious and I feel like I'm waiting for the bomb to drop.  I feel completely incapable of handling any or all of this.  I can't handle the probate thing, I'm sure of it.  I don't even know what questions to ask. I'm probably not even the best person to handle M's trust since at the drop of a hat, I'm likely to launch him. I am stressed to the point that my shoulders ache; I am on edge and trying so, so hard to just keep my mouth shut, for fear of ruining everything.

I know, we all have the strength to carry whatever burdens come our way, that God never gives us more than we can handle, yada yada yada, and I'm sure I'll muddle my way through this one way or another.  But at this moment, I have never felt less competent or less confident.

I hate him with everything I have right now. I hate him for leaving M, for the tremendous wreck he's left in his wake, for his selfishness and cowardice and for everything that came before his death too.

And yet, it crosses my mind, every hour or so, that I have lost count of the times I have prayed he would drop dead.

Careful what you wish for, eh?