The Panic

Today was a good day. In fact, today was a great day. And it is on these days that somewhere, out of the blue, panic will set in. A panic over Jeff that is so strong that it is like a wave of nausea that quickly makes you throw up. It isn't like this always, just sometimes. But the sometimes are hard and they hit so dark...if it weren't for Christ...I wouldn't recover the nausea...I would just throw up all day...

When James called and said that there had been an accident- my heart sank. I could feel my throat tighten up for about 3 seconds and I wanted to panic. But as he continued to narrate the story and it was clear that Timara was helping a friend who was just in a scary accident at school, but was alright...I began to breath easier. And while there were prayers sent up and much concern for the parties involved...it was "do"able. Little did I know...

We arrived at the school to watch Timara's game and I was prepared for the uncomfortableness that I always get when entering that gym. The acute awareness that Jeff was here. His people were here. Much of his life was spent right here in this gym. What I wasn't prepared for was how I would ract when I saw Timara's friend, Em, who had been in the accident. There she was, sitting on a low bleacher, pale as a ghost, trying to stay quiet and be a part of the game- yet not. Her mother sat behind her, carefully monitoring her daughter. The closer I got to sit with them, the more I felt obsessed with Em. I could see the bruising. I could see some scratches and blood. I could see she was still frightened and in pain. I could see I needed to mother her. And then came the panic. The overwelming need to push her mother aside, take Em into my arms, and make her awful care accident away. I wanted to take her home, mother her , and make sure that she was well. It ran through my mind more than once that I would have her in the hospital right now, that I would demand every test on the face of this earth in order to insure her safety- needed or not. But I don't know this child this well, and I am not her mother, who is a great mother, and would never endanger her child. So, I kept babbling to her, trying to nonchalontly mother her, and somehow get this awkward feeling about Em and her appearance and her owies to go away. I watched her so much that I could hardly watch the game. I could hardly concentrate....the need to "fix" her was overwelming. I kept watching her...kept questioning her mother, kept offering to help in some way. I had to mother this child and the feeling got stronger and stronger until I almost reached out and stroked her pretty lil head. And it wasn't until her mother took her home early to rest that I looked up and I realized why I was feeling panicky- why I couldn't get Em and the need to take care of her out of my mind. It was him....

I heard the buzzer sounding. I knew that we had lost the game. But my eyes remained fixed on the records board up on that gym wall. Fixed on Jeff's name. Fixed on Jeff's accomplishments. Fixed on his life. And then it hit me..the panic...the hot tears...the overwelming sense of loss. the need to turn and run and run and bury my head in anyone who could shelter me from this pain. It was Jeff...I wanted to mother Em because when I came upon Jeff's car and realized there was blood and realized...I had to get into that car...and that I couldn't ...and that it was too late...I could not mother him. i could nit make this better. i could not ever ever make him better again....I fell to my knees and raised my hand to the only entity who could help Jeff and that was God. And the ambulance came...and I couldn't see him...and I couldn't touch him....and I couldn't make sure he was dead or heaven help me...alive... I could only do what what I was told....answer questions and walk away...But with Em....I could help...I could take care of her...I could mother her...I could make it all better. Only I couldn't- for Em is not my child. She has a mother. A good mother. One who would die for her. So I, I had to remain trapped in this horrible panic of helplessness because she was not my child- nor was she Jeff. And so i sat. i sat in a room full of people and I wept. I wept for Em. I wept for me. I wept for Jeff. I wept because it wasn't supposed to be like this. Not for him. Not for me. Not for us. I felt all of the memories as rush back. All of the baskets. All of the finish lines. All of the cheering. All for Jeff. I saw him....winning, striving, hearing me cheer him on. I saw all of races. All of his fouls, his baskets, his touchdowns. All of the things that made him the great athlete that he was.
And I wept until I looked up and met his eyes......
"Looked up didn't you..." he said quietly and I nodded. "Don't ever look up..." and he took my hand and padded it."The car is on this side why don't you take kate and go out there..." I nodded again.
I looked around and realized that everyone in that gym had no idea that pain that I was in. They had no idea that while they waited for their daughters to amerge from the locker room, that my life had went to hell and back there in that five minute interval of time. Will it always be like this? Will i always get well meaning hugs, but feel so alone, and so knowing in a room full of people. Will I and I alone alwyas have this sick know;ledge that in a split second your life can change, and scare the hell out of you for the rest of your life. Will there ever be a normal? Will there ever be a day when i can't see him, sense him, hear him, and smell him? Will I ever be able to live?

I do not know. I know that when Sarah asked to watch Katce inthe hallway...and I made up some lame excuse that she couldn't I wanted to turn to her, take her hands, and yell, "Are you kidding me? I have to watch her. I have to know where she is all of the time. What if something happens to her...I love you sarah and you are a great mother, but I have to see her every minute. I have to!" I love Sarah. She is truly a great gift. But she does not know (and I pray to God she never does). The panic. The fear. The sheer terror of not seeing Katce and sometimes the overwelming sense of dread that this death could snatch another one from me.....take another one of my babies and leave me to die this slow death of this disease called life.
No, I do not feel like this everyday. I do not panic everytime when I cannot see them or they are away from me. Omly sometimes. So if you see me, or any other parent who has lost a child either by suicide or any other means, hug them, smile at them, look into their eyes with genuine concern. And when they say that they are okay...know that sometimes they are lying and just. just be their friend. (Thanks for the hug tonight Michele Siple...you have no idea how much it helped)....