Trying to make sense of what is happening

Kind of like a best seller. huh? Oh God, did you hear she has a new book out? Another peek into the insanity in her head! Yes but it’s so entertaining. I left some spaces for you Mari. :)

 

I never realized that maybe that’s why I have been sick and /or ailing for months. Nagging, sometimes horrible aches and pains, unexplained fevers, sinus and other infections, and an array of other stuff. It was interesting when I read E.J.’s post and I thought “Wow, that is what is wrong with me, it is physical loss & grief. My body is showing the signs of ongoing grief”. Suffering without words.  I actually, right now, am waiting on the results of a variety of test results from my doctor, trying to figure out what is happening to me. I know now.

 

I have been looking at this site at least twice a day, hoping to see something. Something new about Brad. A new thought, a new memory, a new photo, a new story, a new anything. With the anniversary coming in at light speed, I hoped there would be something.

 

Terror. That is what I feel. Growing panic, as if we have been given the day the world will end and we must hurry up and figure out what we want to do. The anniversary days are coming. I am so so scared. I should be planning what to do on that day(s).I should be planning how to be on that day. I should be planning where to go, or not to go. Since I had not gotten my tattoo soon after, I should be getting my tattoo then. I should be with everyone. Blah blah blah. I cannot seem to make a single plan or commitment related to anniversary days. Meanwhile, life continues to throw other responsibilities at me, I must commit to. There went my 25th and 26th, the only weekend days Monday, the 20th, the last day I saw him, and Tuesday the 21st, the day I believe it happened, the afternoons are taken now. But I guess I should stop worrying because I still have all the other days till the 29th, the day I found him.

 

 The day I was going to show my family Brad was not home. I’ll go. I’ll show you Mom. He is just in a mood. Off somewhere, being a jerk and letting us worry. Ok Mom, while I am there, yes I will get his gun. I will bring it back so we can report him missing if we need to. That was my job, was to get that from his apartment. Little did I know it would take several months to complete that one.

 

I know now, that my sixth sense knew. Or something that can warn me of impending doom.. I remember the thoughts I had during that week that we did not know where he was, and a thought I had about if something happened to him. My self, the part that knew, was preparing me, ever so slightly, for what was coming. It failed, there is no preparation, but it tried. These events were planned. Planned by some higher power or something. It just seems like this course of events worked like a well oiled machine. Anything that tried to mess up the plan, was neatly and swiftly dealt with. When my 21 year old daughter, Heather, was committed to going to check on Brad that day, I said to her,” Fine, great, go, call me when your done”  Then, a voice. A normal, everyday, I thought audible, voice said No. What if, just what if. No, you go. Do not let Heather go. You must find a way to go. I called Heather. I had to promise, unconditionally, to her that I would go that same day, or she would still go. She made me promise more than once. (It just popped into my head, as I am typing what I wrote on paper yesterday, what if that voice was Brad)  She really feels she knew., she had known for days. She just did not want to believe she knew. I spoke to her several times that week, I listened to her, I think she is right, I think she did know. Who told me not to let her go? Who told me to go.? Who freed up my time that day, to go? Who worked out all the details, perfectly.

Mari being available that day, on the shortest possible notice, was amazing. I could not have gone without her. She was my daughter, Alyssa’s, savior. Without Mari, Alyssa might have been exposed to much more that day and would have probably been scarred for life. Traumatized. Marianne saved her that day. Protected her. Sheltered her from the full blow of what was happening.  Another part of the plan.

 

How in the world did all this stuff work out that day, almost like a miracle. Somehow, everybody got there to his apartment. And whoever couldn’t was available by phone. They came from all directions. Phone calls got made, people got information. We were there for hours. So many more details of that day, all fresh in my head. Not like it was a year ago.

 

I am in a state of panic. Panic over not making the perfect plan. Panic over more regret, more sorrow, more sadness. The days are coming and I can’t stop them. I can’t let them go by without doing the perfect thing, on each day. All eight of them. They will pass and I’ll go on with more grief and sadness because I should have done such and such. I have a chance now. That’s it, I have a chance to fend off the wrong this time. I am so afraid of these days passing, I would give so much to stop time. For months now, something feels wrong. It has almost felt that if I was real quiet, I would hear it, tick tick tick tick. A ticking time bomb. I have heard ticking for months, knowing what’s ticking, just not knowing what happens when it stops. But something is going to happen. I just have no clue what it is. But panic has set in, because now I know. I can’t make a single plan. My self won’t let me make a plan. No plan maybe means it won’t come. It can’t happen. Somehow, an anniversary makes it happen again And, except for this group of people, but society, in general expects me to be better by now. I think a year ago, I feel I would have thought someone in this situation should be better after a year. Nobody has said it, but it just feels like that. What people? Just anybody. If you talk to someone, and you say 1 year ago, it just seems like nobody would understand why I/we are still all f***ed up.

 

 A year. That was a long time ago. But we know, it might as well have been yesterday, or last week, or last month. It was a year, all year, not a year ago, but 365 days. Some worse than others, of pain. A growing, not weakening sense of missing Brad T Cassidy.

 

Missing a piece of me, of us, all of us who loved him. Outsiders see a passage of time. Time is supposed to heal. Well, it doesn’t. Some parts of this still worsen. But, I would not have understood it until I lived through it. I have become afraid to talk about it with others, for fear of what they will think. I should be better by now, they will think. But I’m not. I won’t be. So I just keep quiet. Then, my lack of talking about it makes it seem like I am better, But not talking about him feels so wrong. Like I am forgetting him. If I really loved him, if I was really hurting, I would just stand up and say whatever I wanted. But there are rules, rules to life we have to follow. We have got to hide that we are nuts, even if we really are J

 

Sorry, here is just what happens when my emotions and mind take over and I have a pen and paper in hand. I get it out, but this is how it translates. But don’t worry, in the process of writing this, I thought of a bunch of normal stuff at the same time. Like “I need laundry soap” and “What should I make for dinner” and “I need dog food and the dogs gotta go out” and blah blah blah.

 

Like I always say, 12 radio stations at once. Wish I knew which one Brad was on.