Julie

by Julie
(Clemmons, NC)

My 21 year old son, Adam, lost control of his motorcycle at 10:56 pm on November 9, 2011 and was pronounced dead at 11:58 pm. I was not with him. I was traveling for work and learned of his death by phone shortly after midnight. I saw that I had missed several calls from my husband and my daughter, but I was unable to get either of them on the phone so I called Adam's fiance. I remember her telling me that Adam had had an accident and that he did not make it. I had to call the airlines and arrange for a flight home. That flight is one of my worst memories. I remember boarding the first plane crying. The flight attendant asked me what was wrong and I told her my son had just died. That woman, whose name I do not recall, got on her knees in the aisle and prayed for strength for me to make the journey home and peace for my family. That was one of the most compassionate acts I have ever witnessed.

Adam was my heart. He was kind, full of life, fun, loving. He was celebrating because his girlfriend, the love of his young life, had just agreed to marry him. We were going to celebrate that weekend. Instead we had to deal with his death.

The pain of losing Adam is overwhelming. It is physical. My body hurts. My heart hurts. Everyone wants me to "get over it". There is no "getting over it." I may get used to the reality of his death; I may learn how to put on a smiling face; I will learn how to function again because I must-but I will never "get over it."

I would love to quit everything. I would love to lay down to sleep and not wake up--but life will not be that easy for me. I am learning to live life moment by moment so as not to be overwhelmed by the enormity of the realization that I will likely live more years without Adam than I did with him. I get some peace from looking at his pictures. I talk to him. I take medication and I pray.