Pneumonia?????????????

Kristen with the medical examiner’s office called today and said you died of Pneumonia. All the toxicology reports they’ve been waiting on came back negative. You died of Pneumonia.

I failed you as a mother. I’m so sorry Ben. I failed you, I failed myself, I failed Beau, I failed our family. You told me you were sick. I should have gone and picked you up myself like I wanted to do. But didn’t. Maybe I would have recognized the symptoms. Maybe I could have saved you. Why didn’t your doctor test you? Why didn’t I go get you? I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know. I’m so sorry sweet boy. I’m so sorry!!!!!

I miss you so much. Constantly. I miss your smile, your laughter, your gentle way, your caring nature. I can’t see to type for the tears. They flow every day, drowning me. Sometimes a hundred times a day, sometimes three. But every day. I wake to tears, and the pain in my chest that feels like a telephone pole. And go to sleep to tears that soak my pillow.

I don’t know how to live without you.

On the weekends I ride Beau out to Memory Hill. We collect shells from the marl pile and place them at the base of the Hickory Cross Daddy and I cut. Beau carefully places his shells and usually has a toy car to leave for you. As we ride away he says “Bye Daddy’s Cross” and waves. My tears stream behind me. He does not know what he has lost. He does not know Granny is heartbroken. By the time we arrive back at the camper I’ve dried my tears and pasted on a smile. We read a book and get a snack. Daddy’s cross is gone from his mind, but not mine.

I still can’t go home. I can never stay there again. I race around to grab clothes and necessities and get out as fast as I can. I see you everywhere. Your favorite spot on the couch where we would race to answer jeopardy questions, your patio chair where we spent hundreds of hours solving the world’s problems. Your bedroom, your bathroom, your coffee maker, your smell. Your memory.

Gone. Forever. I can’t absorb that.