As the months went on I had to learn how to maneuver the three of us through this new, unplanned life. This was uncharted territory which I had no clue how to walk through. My main concern was that I didn’t know how to parent our boys alone. I felt so inadequate. I consistently thought to myself that Mike could raise these boys so much better than I could and that it should have been me and not him.
My focus was on making sure the boys were okay. Their whole world had been crushed and I was left to try to pick up the pieces and hopefully put them back together, yet I was broken into pieces myself.
Let me tell you…holding my son at night while he sobbed for his daddy was one of the hardest things I have ever done. Trying to control my boy as he raged in anger because his dad died and he wants to know why just about killed me too. Having my son get into the car after school and lose it because all the other kids got picked up by their dads and he doesn’t anymore…it crushed me. Not being able to change the channel in time before the boys saw another news clip about their dad’s crash pissed me off. Having my sons be afraid at night because it was only the three of us in the house made me frightened too. Hearing people’s judgement on decisions I was making for our little family when they had never set foot in my shoes really hurt me.
Needless to say, my sole priority was helping the boys grieve in the most healthy way possible. I was desperate to find all the resources I could to help guide them through this new life that had been forced upon us.
What I didn’t realize is that I had forgotten about myself. I was so concerned about my boys’ hearts and minds after I had to say the words “Your Daddy isn’t coming home” that I failed to remember that I couldn’t help them if I was not helping myself.
It took a long time and a lot of persuasion from my best friends and family, but I finally agreed I needed to make myself a priority along with my boys. They convinced me that if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be able to help them like I so desperately desired. I began to open up more in therapy. I started journaling. I tried really hard to eat regularly again. I even went out to dinner with my girlfriends a few times.
Most importantly, I slowly started to resume attending church. For quite some time I couldn’t get through even one worship song without sobbing. All these things were so incredibly hard for me to do, yet, I knew I had to. My boys needed their best mama.
As I started to slowly figure out how to live this new life, there was still something missing. I felt absolutely alone. I knew that I could not do this life on my own. These boys needed more but I had no clue what that looked like. I had no idea what I needed or who it was that I needed.
As much as I could, each week, I would spend time at the cemetery with Mike. I would sit on my blanket talking to him, praying to God, laughing to myself and mostly sobbing. This particular day I was a mess. I laid on that blanket face down sobbing. Not caring who would drive by. Not caring who would walk by and see me. I was done. Done trying to be so strong for everyone else. I sobbed while telling Mike that I couldn’t do this anymore. I was failing at being a single parent to his boys. I was letting him down. I begged him, out loud, to send me someone.
Please, send me someone to love my boys like he did. Send me someone to take care of us. Send me someone that he would approve of to live this new life with. I laid on the blanket for what felt like hours, by myself, praying to God and asking Mike for his help. I remember specifically telling him it could be tomorrow or years from now, just please, in his time and in God’s time, make the three of us happy again.
A week later I met David.
