It's 5 minutes until the end of the day that marks 2 weeks. 11:55pm, October 26, 2015 and I made it through the day. Last night I couldn't sleep. I lay in bed reading, doing everything possible to distract my mind and my tears. But as soon as I closed the book, a little after 3am, it rushed in.
By this hour, 2 weeks ago, 2 Monday's ago, I was doubled over on the floor of the living room, my mom trying to calm me. Just 2 hours before that, I was in the back of a cop car being escorted home. In the back of the car, there was a small opening that had a tube that blew colder, fresher air then the stale air trapped between the middle glass and the back surrounding windows. The officer allowed me to roll the window down just slightly, but if it weren't for the pipe through the middle barrier, I'm not sure I would have been able to breathe. I put my face into that pipe and took long deep breaths of cool air and let it blow on my face. Either way, no matter what, I couldn't sit up anyway. I was doubled over in the officer's car too, just like I was 2 weeks ago, at this hour, on the living room floor.
I needed the officer to drive me home, leaving my car parked on the side of the road just 100 feet or so from yours. I walked into the house, dizzy and faint and barely able to stand before I saw my mom at the dining table. She looked up and asked if you were ok. I burst into tears and could only say, "she didn't make it."
My mother's reaction was almost exactly like mine. I think we both repeated the word "no" through wails of disbelief more times then I can relay. For me, I repeated "no" to the Detective who explained your accident to me as I sat by a tree waiting for any information. And as she told me of your passing in the ambulance on the way to the hospital, I buried my head in my knees and rolled to the ground crying repeatedly "no".
But it didn't matter how many times. How argumentative or stern, or weakly I protested, the answer was "yes".
On this night, 2 weeks ago, I learned that my very worst nightmare had come true. I learned that yes, you had been in a car accident and yes, you had passed away.
The last 2 weeks have been kind of blur. Sometimes quite literally as tears are uncontrollable right now. Sometimes just because there's so much commotion. Sometimes because there's so many decisions and a long list of to-do's. Sometimes because people have so many questions and I am fortune, or unfortunate enough to answer them. Things have not stopped swirling around and life didn't actually stop for me to just focus and fade away.
The first set of obligations was to take the time to call the most important people in our lives, especially those I thought You'd want to hear this news directly from me. I reached out to your best friends, your closest family and repeated over and over that "I have some bad news. I need to talk to you. Justice was in an accident last night and she didn't make it." I could barely get the sentences out. Over and over I heard screams and cries on the other end that mirrored my own. It was torture. Worse than hurting myself, it was a grave reminder of how hurt others are going to be without you. I hated making every call. It was just one of the many things that just haven't been fair to have to do.
My second set of obligations after the first 24 hours, was fulfilling my legal duties to care for you body. Isn't that disgusting to say? This artful organism was now reduced to "body" that someone needed me to make plans for. When the medical examiner told me that I need to contact a funeral home so he could release you, it felt as if they were trying to still protect you and keep you safe. While, ironically, that's exactly what none of us were doing very well. I couldn't make the calls to any home the first day and a half. I wasn't ready as your mother to make plans for you to leave.
When I finally gained the courage to make the call, I only was able to do it after a VERY long, painful morning of figuring out what to say to them when I did call. Would I bury or cremate you? That was the decision I now faced that I never thought I'd have to make.
That morning, on Wednesday, was possibly worse than the night you died. By that morning, it was sinking in. I was shaking and crying and pacing the kitchen floor like a trapped animal. I was in a cage I wouldn't be released from, no matter how badly I needed a way out. You've said before that you wanted to be cremated. But it just wasn't that simple. So many questions went through my mind on what was the right thing for my baby. How do I lay her to rest for eternity on this earth in a way that kept me from feeling you were really gone? After several hours and more phone calls and unyielding tears, I made the decision to cremate the beautiful creature that God had blessed me with just 18 years, 2 months, 2 weeks and 2 days before. In the end, I needed to know where you were and that the place you rest was going to always be with me and those that loved you most. It was the hardest decision of my life.
Going through all of the phone calls and steps to find details and answers, as well as move forward with plans to get us all through your funeral to get to the day I'll bring you home, is like I said before - blurry. Friends and family have brought so many blessings and comfort and even laughs that I can't ever begin to thank them or repay them.
Your brothers are who I'm fighting for now. The sorrow that overwhelms me at night. The tears that creep up when I see so many things that used to bring me joy, but now make me sad. The emptiness I feel because a part of me died with you. And the utter confusion I have been facing when trying to figure out if and how this can even be real. I have to fight those things. Every hour I just want to crawl across the floor and find something to hold on tightly too. Every hour I want to sleep. Every hour I want to scream. But they need me. They don't want to see me cry. Sadness is not what they're used to and I'm depended upon for normalcy and even smiles and laughter.
I'm not going to be able to hide from this. I know I can't run, although every part of me wants to. But I have certainty that there's no where to retreat. I could have been a better mother. I could have been so much more for you. I'm still here for you. If you need me and you need to talk, we'll make it happen.
Those people you came to, the one's who saw you, talked to you, dreamed of you...they're so very lucky. Because 2 weeks ago my worst nightmare came true. I had my last conversation, my last I love you, my last "I'll talk to you later", my last text and my last day with my perfectly imperfect you.
