After the end

People keep telling me, “I don’t know how you do it.  How do you keep going through this?”  Guess what? I have no idea. 

Before Lawrence died, I suffered a couple of bad bouts of depression.  There were times that I briefly thought about suicide.  But knowing that I had him counting on me kept me alive, literally and figuratively.   How could I quit when he needed me? 

I don’t know how to explain it, but that feeling persists even now.  He’s counting on me to keep living because he couldn’t.  He needs me to keep his memory alive.  He needs me to keep saying his name. 

He literally told me to “live long mommy.”  Those words, in his 7 year-old handwriting, are tattooed on my right forearm and displayed above my work desk where I see it every day. I have no other choice but to keep going.

Lawrence and I had a conversation earlier this year.  He had gotten in a fist fight with another boy at school, something that was starting to happen more often lately.  I told him that he needed to stop getting into fights, because you never know when someone will have a knife or a gun and no matter how tough he thinks he is, his fists can’t beat that.  He knew how important he was to me and I told him if anything happened to him, if he died, I would have no reason to keep going.  I told him I would kill myself.  He looked at me appalled, not at the thought of me committing suicide, but he exclaimed, “you wouldn’t avenge my death!?”

On the day he died, after the officers told me he was gone, I remember standing in the hospital wondering if the hospital had a psych ward because I knew those thoughts feelings were going to come.  I wondered if I should let my sister or my friends know that I was a suicide risk.  But the thoughts of actually doing it never came.  I don’t know why or how I’m still alive.

I just know I have to keep living in a way that would make him proud.  He wouldn’t want me to stay in bed crying.  He would be so disappointed if I didn’t continue to live and love and enjoy life. 

For those reasons, I find myself writing this post from Galway, Ireland.  As anyone who has ever lost someone close to them knows, the holidays are especially hard.  So with Christmas approaching, I started making plans to travel.

At first I wasn’t sure of a destination, but my sister, Carissa, told me to think about what I would want to do on my vacation.  Laying on a beach all day by myself didn’t feel right.  I wanted to be around people, laughter, music, the ocean, and enjoy some good beer.  Well, if that doesn’t sound like Ireland, I don’t know what does.

I arrived in Dublin on December 13^th and I will be here until January 4^th. I’m staying in hostels for the most part, with a few excursions to Airbnbs around the country.  I’m in the first Airbnb right now, it happens to be a castle.  Cregg Castle was built in 1648, some of the walls are 5 feet thick!  It’s beautiful, something out of one of the historic fiction novels I like to read.  Besides the host of the Airbnb and his “castlemates” there are two cats who live here.  Pixie is the actual “Queen of the castle” and her newly adopted brother, Nero, has recently decided to move in.   She’s not sure how she feels about him getting some of the attention that used to be all hers.  They are both wonderful.  Nero actually greeted me at my car shortly after I arrived, meowing and asking for affection.  He started purring and rolled onto his back for belly rubs the moment I bent down to pet him.

Alan Murray, the host of the castle is equally friendly and welcoming, without the belly rubs.  He’s an artist, and his gorgeous art is displayed in the front rooms of the castle.  I will be coming back in a couple days for an art therapy workshop with Alan, and I’ll get to paint with oils for the first time.

Lawrence is never far from my mind, I miss him so much, but I feel like he is with me and he’s proud of me.  I’m living long, baby boy.