My son Aaron was twenty-six years old when he was killed on September 18,2012.He was coming home from work, riding his motorcycle. A truck turned left in front of him and killed him instantly. My daughter called me at 7:15 p.m. She had heard about an accident in the small town in which we live. I stood up and started to pray out loud and pleadingly to God. I just knew it was my son. He died at 6:42 p. m. I had my husband drive me up to the scene. The fire and rescue people would not let me near. But I knew. Finally, I found out it WAS him. I was stunned. No tears, nothing. I could not wrap my head around the whole thing.
The days that followed are a blur. I went where I was told and did what I was told.
It has been nine weeks today and I am destroyed. I know Aaron would want me to move on and not cry all the time. But I miss him. When I think of the accident, I cannot believe it really happened.
This is a very lonely, painful place with no way out.
Aaron had just moved up in his work and lived for his wife and children. He was doing so well. He was happy and fulfilled. A sixteen year-old kid made an error and took my precious son.
I am angry with God. I question His very existence.
I am angry with the kid who imploded my life. I cry every day, sometimes all day.
There is very little joy here and I am lonely.
There was the "before" and the "after". That is how I look at everything.
I wish I could turn the clock back or that it could be me. I am old and have little to contribute to the world anymore and here I sit. I pray that if there is a merciful God, He will take me soon.