Remembering My Son

It has been two weeks since my 14 year old son Jonathan died from suicide. I am slowly coming to terms with his death. The road will be long and rough.

The whirlwind of emotions have not stopped. Sometimes I laugh as we reminisce about the happy times that we have shared with him. Other times I cry when I remember that he is gone and that there will be no more things to experience with him. Right now, the memories are fresh. 

I have bipolar disorder and one of the symptoms of this condition is having a difficult time with memory. I don't want to forget the little things. I don't want the recollection of these events in my mind to fade. The thought brings tears to my eyes. 

I know that I will feel remorseful as time goes by. Slowly I will forget his face and will have to look at pictures to remind me of what he looked like. All the encounters that we have shared will be harder to remember. The twinkle in his eye. His mischievous grin. The way that he brought humor to our lives. 

Before my son's funeral service my husband asked me if I needed an anti-anxiety pill to get through that day. I refused. I told him that did not want to be numbed.

I wanted to feel everything. I wanted to mourn. I wanted to feel the sadness. I wanted to feel the grief. 

I have not had my emotional breakdown yet. I have discussed my concerns with my doctor. I believe that the medication that I am taking to stabilize my moods are not allowing me to process the full spectrum of feelings that this loss should bring me. For my sanity, I feel the need to go insane. 

I miss my son. He will always be in my thoughts. He will always be in my heart. 

A friend told me that I shouldn't call the deep, gut wrenching feelings of grief a "breakdown". I should consider it to be a "breakthrough". Her words bring comfort to me as I travel through my journey of coming terms with my greatest loss, my son.