Last week I had my first panic attack in quite awhile. Fall is approaching. It is the most beautiful time of the year… And, one of the hardest times of the year for me.
Last week, I unknowingly walked (ran) through human blood while on my way into work. It was raining super hard so I ran in the back door. It wasn’t until I was on my way back to my desk after getting some paper towels to dry myself off that I saw the blood.
You didn’t need to go back & read that, I wrote it again here--- I unknowingly walked through human blood, from a suicide the evening before. A man shot himself outside of where I work. (I found this out about an hour after cleaning the blood off of my backroom work floor & when the rest of the employees arrived for the day.) I usually come into work hot, with like maybe 5 minutes to spare. For some crazy reason, I was almost 2 hours early to work this day. OK, Not super crazy-I had a lot to catch up on before a big meeting.
Besides the trauma of spreading someone’s remains… (Yes, there were pieces of flesh I cleaned up too.) …I got flashbacks of blood from my son River. I had sooo many thoughts at one time, flat out lost my breath, and had a full on panic attack.
These were some of my thoughts:
-My son didn’t make it past day one & this person took their own life.
-Why would someone be so desperate to kill themselves?
-How did I make it this far? I begged to die so my son could live.
-The will to live… it is one of life’s biggest mysteries to me.
-What the hell am I doing here? Like right now? I’m crying in a bathroom.
-How can I make a difference? How can I honor this man who is now dead?
-This man’s remains, no matter how small should have been taken care of. A random gal should not be walking him around on the bottom of her birkenstocks.
-These are the birkenstocks Mark bought me when I was pregnant with River when my feet were too swollen for my other shoes. The shoes I wore when I was pregnant with my son who is not dead. And, now I have a dead man on my shoes.
-I feel so bad & want to apologize. I wonder who his mother is/was?
-I want my son to be alive.
-I wonder if this man & my son hung out in the same freezer at the funeral home?
-This man was a son of someone. He had a mother. A mother…
-I am a mother of 2 sons. One living and one dead.
….I could write 5 more pages like this. I feel this all at once & my brain & body cannot handle it.
So, how does this story relate to my happy yellow camper + a thank you.
Well, since my son died in 2019, I’ve learned this:
1.) Life is short. And, you get one shot. Death is final.
2.) When you feel there is injustice, you must fight for what is right.
3.) Fighting for what is right is hard. And, it can take way longer than what is expected.
4.) Find your voice. Keep talking until someone listens. You may make a difference.
5.) Do what you love. Be who you want to be. Surround yourself with people & places that make you happy.
I’ve pretty much stuck to my gut on the above when making decisions since 2019.
Ok, yes-I bought a lemon of a camper that needs a roof. (But, part of it is our fault-we cut the heater pipe out & didn’t fix it properly). But, I flipped it in 2 weeks with my husband & I love it. It was re-built with love. It feels good in there. It allows me to be creative. To play with heat, jewelry, & rocks. I get to talk to people & find out their stories. I get to share my experience of what I’ve learned…BY LIVING IT!
So, THANK YOU.
Thank you for walking into my camper & getting welded by me.
Thank you for making a future appointment.
Thank you for helping me find & be the best Anndrea I can be.
Thank you.
Peace, Love, & Light (Sparkles)
-Anndrea
P.S. Yes, I am standing up for what I believe is right-for my son & for the man who did not want to live anymore. That man's remains should have been taken care of respectfully & fully. No other human should have witnessed nor cleaned up human pieces & blood unknowingly. Yes, I have past trauma & PTSD that may have made the whole situation worse. But, I would hate for what happened to me to someone else's future PTSD. So, I'm working on it. I will make the world a better place for the next generation-the one my son should be living in.
P.P.S. If you know anyone in the birkenstock biz, I could use a new pair. There is no way I can throw away my shoes that I walked miles in with my son River. Those shoes not only carried me, they carried River. They need to be boxed up & kept safe-not have bad memories projected onto them when I see them right now. They are no longer my reminder of a happier blissful time of my life-when my son was alive. I know they are just shoes, but when your kid is dead...they mean more than I can even write here.