That was Christmas of 2004. My son had just committed suicide on June 1 of that same year, he (Rog) was 15 and a half - & I was running out of reasons to live. My husband & I had 5 kids - "his and hers", but no "ours". His oldest son was 3 months older than Rog, my daughter and his middle son were both 14 that December, they, also are 3 months apart - and his youngest son was 8. That life-changing summer of '04, we were still on a rotation system with the boys mom in Florida, we got one of the oldest 2 every other year, for the year, and switched off during summer vacation. The youngest had been up during vacation for visits, but had not been added to the "full-year rotation" yet.
The summer I lost my son I never really got to mourn him. I had final exams to take at college, my first course to teach on campus, that trip to Florida to make, one kid or another (my daughter, his oldest son) needed rides here or there, basically, life, as it tends to do, went on & I had to do my part.
I did what needed to be done, even though I was only going through the motions. It still amazes me to this day that I was able to function as well as I did -while stepping on pieces of my shattered heart every time I took a step.
I still don't know how it all came to pass, but somehow, someone decided that THIS was the year the youngest boy would come for the whole year - and not just him but ALL THREE of my stepsons (and of course my daughter, who lived with us full time) would be spending that year in our home. Think about that for a moment, if you will - a woman loses her only son at the start of summer, and so someone says, "Hey, here's a fine idea -- put a total of 4 kids - 3 teens and one younger in her care - for a whole year, & to hell with her feelings!
I'm sorry but to me that will always be one of the most cruel and irresponsible acts I have ever seen or experienced. Not just to me, either, but to those kids. What kind of mother would just pack up the kids and send them to a woman dealing with the fresh, recent loss of her own child - not knowing if that woman would be capable of dealing with the responsibility of a whole houseful of children? (and I most definitely was NOT, I assure you.)
When I finally realized that my son was never coming back home again, that he was DEAD by his own HAND, I broke like nothing I have ever felt before, In essence, I shut down - physically and mentally. I quit going to work, because I worked in the tech dept for our local school district, and work meant going to the schools every day, where there were kids - kids who knew my son, kids who reminded me of my son, kids who were alive, while mine was dead. I couldn't go. Then I quit going to classes at college - because, you see, my bedroom was at the far end of the hall from the stairs, between me and the downstairs door there was my daughter's room, then the boy's room - which was where my son chose to end his life. After that door, bathroom and then stairs.. It took everything I had in me to go past his door to use the bathroom, even.
Now, my husband tried, truly he did. And I don't really blame him for allowing the 3 boys to be thrust upon us that year, she had a nasty habit of withholding the boys from him whenever she felt petty or spiteful (there was no "legal" agreement, just a notarized statement between two parents) and he knew if he had suggested this might not be the best year to do it, he may never get another chance again. And he tried his best to fill in where I was falling apart, but he worked 3rd shift, & he was hurting too...
So here we are, approaching Christmas, and I have lost my job (my career!), flunked a full semester (with a full course-load) and could care less. I just lay in the bed hoping that maybe next time the sun came up I would be dead and gone. If I had any thoughts at all about the living people in the house it was no more than this - 3 teenagers and one adult man, each of them capable of doing what they needed without any help from me, and all 4 of them to help the younger one, what the hell did anyone need me for, anyway? My son died in his room while I was 2 doors away - what kind of mother was I to let that happen? Surely, everyone would be much better of if wasn't around (I know that is not true now, but grief is good at casting shadow & doubt).
Then everything changed. Right before Christmas, my husband comes in and says "I have something for you" & before I could even react or speak, this little furball comes snuggling up to my face - he wasn't as big as my hand that day - & my husband said the magic words - "honey he's little, he needs you. And I need you, too- we can't make it without you" or something to that effect & I looked up and he was crying (my husband) and that tiny furball was licking my face with his puppy breath and I was crying, too - an ocean of tears for loss, for love, and for a reason to try and come back to the land of the living.
That was the Christmas of 2004, the year that Zeus and Joe saved me from drowning in my sorrow. Little bitty Zeus, one of only 2 pups that survived the litter, Zeus who, I later learned was born on my son's birthday. Zeus who, as an adult, stood taller than me on his hind legs, outweighed me - Zeus who greeted me every day on those hind legs with the hug of a human child, who was afraid of storms and every time he heard thunder would race across to wherever i was and leap into my lap. Zeus- who was my friend, my protector, my "road dog" both literally and figuratively- his name was kind of a play on words - as you probably know, in mythology, Zeus was the King of all the Gods. In my world, Zeus was the King of all the Dogs (Gods-Dogs get it?) He is the love story behind Spoiled Rottenweilers, which will be my next story. maybe... It will be one of the stories for sure.
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