The Day My Heart Broke

Trigger warning: death and dying.

I wrote this on 9/29/22. I am at a place in which I would like to share.

I have an urge to write, but I don’t know what I want to say. 

My heart sank when I saw the trooper pull in the driveway, as I already knew.

On September 7th, I was notified that my son, Isaiah, was killed in a motorcycle accident. I was told that he did not suffer. 

As the trooper tried to comfort me, I remember seeing the pain on her face and wanting to tell her it was okay. I vacillated between rocking back and forth while sitting and pacing, all I remember saying out loud was “Oh my God.” My body was crying, I was going through the motions but I realized that there were no tears. I was questioning why I wasn’t actually crying, did I not care? I needed to cry. 

It felt so surreal. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe what I was told, it was more that this couldn’t be happening, how could this be happening. “I don’t know what to do,” kept ringing through my head. 

I am thankful that my older son was home with me at the time. Bryan made all the initial phone calls. He called and asked Abner to come home. In the end, I was the one that told him over the phone that Isaiah was no longer with us. 

I have never felt this pain before, the shock, disbelief, the horror playing out in front of me and having no control. Watching my older son be so strong and holding the pain in because I couldn’t. The realization that Isaiah was gone and I will never see him again. “What do I do?”

Left, sitting at home and not knowing what to do. There is no where to go, no escape, no ability to leave and see him or hold him. Just left.

At one point Bryan hugged me and I told him that I understand why people do drugs as whipped cream, my usual vice, just didn’t seem like it was going to cut it. “What do I do?”

The coroner calls to tell us that Isaiah didn’t suffer, they will do an autopsy in the morning and will call in the afternoon to let us know the findings and to obtain funeral home information, if we have it. It made it more real, I still don’t know what to do. How do we identify a funeral home?

That night, there was no sleep. The world was challenging my beliefs in what I thought happened after death. Your body is just a vessel his soul has moved on, but I was crying out because my son was laying in a cold draw in a morgue all by himself. Why should he have to be by himself? And in the morning he wasn’t going to have an autopsy performed, my brain was telling me that he was going to be dissected. There is nothing I can do!

Who do you reach out to in the middle of the night when you’re left with a wound through your heart and soul in which no words can accurately describe. Friends were over in the evening and supporters said to call anytime. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t call in the middle of the night to scream and cry. I needed someone to call…I thought if I knew of a grief hotline I might have called them, as I felt all alone with nobody. I still didn’t know what to do! I called none.

It has been 22 days since my son left this side of eternity. I have cried silently and outwardly, I have talked to friends and family, I have learned to accept support and help. I have learned that if there is something that I need, to ask for it; if others want to help and I don’t know what to ask for, accept whatever they are willing to give. I have worked to not avoid reminders such as pictures and videos, or even the accident site…but to engage them in small amounts that I can handle. I have kept myself busy, but sometimes too busy and needed to pull back and balance it. I am working on not feeling like a burden to others when all I do is cry when talking to them. I have walked, bicycled, worked out, journaled, read, colored, painted, spent time with family and friends, and continue to try to breathe. 

I want to talk about my son. I want to share the good times and frustrating times. I want people to know of him and to not be scared to talk about him, for his memory is a blessing (this is the first time I can say that and fully grasp what it means). 

Everyday I am making a choice. I am choosing to get up, choosing to engage in life, choosing to engage with others, and choosing to live. Somedays I choose to sit quietly and not talk, to stay in bed, to not go out, but I want to make sure that I am primarily choosing the path that will lead to my healing; whatever that may be.