Image Source: Charles Rogers’ TimeBoy1408 YouTube Channel, 2010

While we were going through my son’s mental health issues, followed by his substance misuse and eventual addiction, I wanted to hide under a rock, hit the fast-forward button on life, and then re-emerge when all that nonsense was resolved and over.

In 2015, it was all over but not the way I had ever imagined or hoped.

Once my son killed himself, I wanted the opposite

I wanted a rewind button so I could do it all again and do it better. Because I would know what was going on, I would see his pain and make all the right decisions, or at least what I thought were right. But who really knows if any of them would have helped? My superhero-focused self thought I could rescue my son and save him.

My wish to hit the rewind button wasn’t just to go back in time and make different decisions to save my son, it was also so I could avoid this unknown journey called grief.

What would my life look like? What would my future be like? Would I ever find joy or laughter again? Everything looked bleak and I didn’t want to do grief even though I had no choice. The fear of what it would be like swallowed me like a giant wave.

I didn’t want to go through all that ugly pain, face every day knowing that my son wasn’t in it and the rest of the world would have the audacity to move forward as if nothing had happened.

How could we do everything humanly possible and available and still have it blow up in our faces like an atomic bomb?

A few months into grief, I wanted a fast-forward button again

It helped me to imagine living a normal life in the future. Not that I knew what that would look like. But it did offer a reprieve, a break from unrelenting grief.

The truth is we just have to face our adverse circumstances and do the best we can. I did that but I couldn’t help wanting to hide, avoid, or run away. The worry when he was alive was unbearable and the pain after he died was insurmountable. All I could do was limp forward blindly hoping I’d find a flashlight that would take me through that dark tunnel.

Avoidance or numbing wouldn’t have helped but would have delayed healing and left me stuck.

I wish my beautiful boy had not met such an ugly ending. But I can’t repaint the picture or rewrite the ending. In my book, however, I do end it beautifully. Because Charles deserves that. And so do I.

The only button I push now is the “be here right now” button. I have learned to savor moments of joy no matter how small. Today, I’m just glad I had him in my life as long as I did.