Still the Mother of Three

There are some things in this life that a mother should never have to experience, endure, or be forced to deal with. Here I sit, the first few hours of a new year, a new decade!! While it is an exciting time to look forward to, I can’t help but to look back and remember the sadness, the pain, the emptiness and devastation of having to plan a funeral for my son.

Jon was my second child of 3. I love all my children the same & never played favorites when they were growing up. Me & Jon had a different type of bond. As a baby he stayed close to me always. Even when I put him down, he would stay close to my feet. As he grew up, he did all the normal boy stuff, but he stayed close to his mama! His friends called him a mama’s boy; he agreed, with a huge grin. Jonathan was kind of the glue of the family, the center of everything. His older brother was too serious; the baby sister, too bossy. Jon was the one who made everyone laugh, all the time. He sang all day, and sometimes, all night. Anyone he met usually became a friend. I was blessed to have him for 26 years, 11 months & 21 days. At around 3:13 a.m. on Friday, August 28th, 2015, I received a call that every mother dreads. It was my mother on the other end. “Jacquie, get up!! Get dressed! Me & Papa are on our way there!” I heard the strain in her voice. I heard something that wasn’t said, but I was still kinda confused. As I hung up the phone, I woke my daughter up & told her what was going on, my heart beating a mile a minute. My stomach hurt & I was shaky. All of a sudden, I knew. I looked at my daughter and just said, it’s my son. And I was right. He was killed in an accident on his way home.

That day was the first of a whole new existence. As I went through all the motions of taking care of stuff, I was mostly on auto pilot. The world literally looked like a foreign place. I walked back in the house that morning and looked at the living room and saw all the stuff that just the night before drove me insane: his drum sticks, phone & hat were thrown on the couch and his shoes were in the middle of the floor. All of a sudden, those things became precious. I took a picture of stuff on the couch and picked his tennis shoes up and placed them on top of the curio cabinet. My family & friends, my church family, all rallied to help us in any way they could. I remember walking into the funeral home and sitting down to discuss arrangements. I couldn’t speak. Tears flowed as if from a fountain. I went to the church to rehearse with the choir. I couldn’t sing, or listen. My brain was spinning. What is this? I want my baby back!

One week later we filed into the church to say our final goodbyes. What a day! It still felt like a horrible nightmare and I wished I could wake up. That was 4 years and 3 months ago. I cried every morning & every night for a solid year. I felt as if I had lost myself. I gave birth to 3 children. 1 of them is gone. I couldn’t reach him. I wanted to talk to him, hug him, kiss him, look at him, but I couldn’t. The worst part was knowing that I would never be able to again, ever! It was so final & so painful. I wondered how to go on. I didn’t know how to move through the days. Part of me was missing.

Time has passed; sometimes slowly, but other times, too fast. Not one day has passed that I have not thought about my baby. I talk to him. I talk about him. I remember everything about his life that made our lives wonderful! I don’t cry everyday now, but I hurt just as bad. I’m always thankful for my faith in God and believing that my son is at peace. That didn’t help at first. I wanted him here, period!! I still do. I would gladly have given my life for his, but that choice wasn’t mine to make. I have learned, in a new way, that love doesn’t die. I keep him close to me, which is easy because he lives in my heart. I remember his voice and his smile. I love him as much today as I ever did. I finally figured out who I am though. I’m still the mother of three!!