The Scream

Pretty day today, so we decided to take a ride to Lancaster.  We were about 15 minutes down the road when I started second-guessing my decision to go.

There are days that I feel fragile - painfully needy - and I hate being needy.  I want to be stronger, so I do things sometimes that I shouldn't do - push myself more than is good for me.  I don't want to be a burden to anyone - to Michael - to my kids.  There are days that I just want to curl up in a ball and hide in the dark.


Today I pushed too hard - and I knew it within 5 miles of my house. 

We passed someone with their furniture out on the curb for sale.  I wanted to text Greg to let him know it was there.  He's not here.  I'll never share that laugh with him again.  The tears flow.  I miss him.

I cried off and on the whole way to Lancaster - and again the whole way home.

I couldn't get the image of him hanging in his workshop out of my head.  I couldn't stop thinking about what he must have suffered during the 4-6 minutes that it must have taken him to die.  Did he try to call out?  He was is my child - and I failed him.  I'm not sure when - or how - but I am his mother - and I failed him

And then I heard the scream - that primal, guttural, scream when your heart is ripped apart - the scream that's racked with pain - that wrenches your soul and leaves you empty - the scream that I screamed the night Greg died.

Tonight, Michael never turned around - and then I realized the scream was in the breath of my life.  I heard it -  felt it - was crushed by it in the core of where the pain lives -

but there was no sound.  

God, help me.