Our Little Ring Bearer

“Today marks Thom’s and my 26th anniversary. It hasn’t always been easy, but we’ve done our best. Missing our little ring bearer.” This was my Facebook post this morning, in addition to eight pictures of our handsome and innocent nearly 2 1/2 year old son, some that I’ve included here. It’s been nine days since we officially lost Blake to the monster of addiction. This day has been hard. I had no idea that it would be so hard, but really, when I think about it, of course it’s hard.

Thom came into our lives when Blake was 13 months old. Before that, we were solo. I felt so protective of Blake. With his father out of the picture and very little support from my family, Blake relied on me for everything. Sometimes it was hard, as money was tight, and between working, going to school, jumping through the hoops of the welfare system, household chores, and taking care of him, there was little time for a social life. I was also carrying a lot of hurt and resentment, and with Blake’s father not taking any responsibility or being involved, it seemed that Blake was suffering the abandonment of a parent, just as I had.

I remember looking in on Blake when he was sleeping and thinking, ‘how could a mother walk away from this?’ I really struggled through those early months, and even years, trying to make sense of it. I mean, a father turning his back, that was one thing, but a mother? That’s what I thought anyway. I’ve since come to realize the tremendous impact of parental abandonment, father or mother.

The abandonment of my mother is hitting me for some reason today. It hasn’t really bothered me for quite sometime. I’ve accepted, although it’s beyond my comprehension, that she keeps me a secret because she never told anyone about me and she doesn’t want people to judge her for past decisions. It is what it is, but a woman should have a mother for support during a time like this, dammit – especially if she’s alive! I think my current devastating loss just underscores and bolds the loss of my mother and all of the losses that came from that decision. It’s easy for me to be mad at her. I sent her a text today, which I haven’t done in years. I just let her know that her grandson, who she never met, passed away after his battle with addiction, and that she could show her support and caring (because she told me years ago that she has always loved me) by contributing anonymously to the GoFundMe campaign that has been set up to help us with expenses. That was over four hours ago. I have no expectations, but I can’t say that I won’t be upset if I am ignored.

While this blog is not about the trauma that I experienced as a child, it is an integral part of this story. I was a single mother who lost her mother to abandonment when she was 18 months old. As a child, I experienced physical abuse, domestic violence, substance abuse/addiction, poverty, and religious fanaticism within my immediate family. I became a parent through these lenses and through the lens of unconditional love that I felt from my grandparents. I so much wanted to do better than my immediate family. I wanted to show them that I would be better than fine by finding my own way, and that attitude included parenting 180 degrees different than the way I had been parented.

Consequently, when I held my little Blake in my arms, I felt that it was him and me against the world. I had so many hopes and dreams for us and for him. I was all about control back then. I made a timeline, loosely stated my standards, and stuck to it. I would be off all public assistance and married by the time Blake was four years old. I would marry someone with: (1) a car, (2) a job, and (3) a functional family. This timeline and these standards were induced by shame – the shame of being a ‘welfare queen’, and of having a child ‘out of wedlock’, which could only mean that I was a certain kind of woman. I needed to fix all of that – for the sake of appearance.

Don’t get me wrong, I do not regret the choices that I made. Those young adult choices were fighting choices, and I continue fighting to this day, although I hope that it is with much more wisdom. I do not feel that I need to be a certain way to be accepted or acceptable. I was and am very lucky to have a partner that loves me, probably more than I can comprehend, that is willing to support me and grow with me, who has walked with me through the ups and the downs, and who now fills out paperwork from the mortuary because I am just too sad.

Today started by me asking Thom where the sweatshirt was that we brought back from the sober living house where Blake lived. He replied that he had washed it and it was in the folded stack of laundry at the end of the bed. “You washed it?!?” I whimpered. “That was the whole point, that I would have his smell,” I said through tears. “Now I won’t be able to smell him anymore.” It was just unbearable. He calmly explained that he had retrieved the sweatshirt from a basket of clean laundry at the house, so it already didn’t have Blake’s smell on it. I know that, even if the sweatshirt had not already been washed at the house, there was no malicious intent on Thom’s part, but it opened up the floodgates, nonetheless.

I need to cry. I have cried. I have been told that I am so strong, and I am. Strong people cry too. I have lost one of the greatest gifts/loves of my life. It literally shakes me to my core. I believe that in every challenge, in every tragedy, there is an opportunity for growth, and it prepares us for the next thing – whether that thing is perceived as negative or positive. There will be a lot more ‘I won’t be able to anymore’realizations when it comes to Blake. I won’t be able to hug him, to answer the phone when he calls me, to call him, to see him realize his dreams, to listen to his ponderings about the world, etc., but the one I can grateful for is, I won’t be able to witness his fear of being stalked by the monster of addiction.