Standing in American Eagle, in between two rows of men’s boxers. The boxers Rob wore. The boxers that Rob died in, in his bed. Standing there, staring at them…
Was that pair them? Weren’t they blue? Wait, was it American Eagle, or was it Hollister? Why can’t I remember the exact boxers he was wearing, or exactly where they were from, when I saw him on his bed for the last time? Oh my gosh, stop picturing him laying on his bed lifeless. Oh my gosh, I am here to be happy, get all of this out of your head. Stop, I am in my happy place.
You found your son dead, that’s why you ran. That’s why you can’t remember the exact boxers he was wearing. You weren’t a bad mom because you ran out of the house. But how could I?? Why didn’t I go to him? Why didd’t I wrap my arms around him and not let them take him away? It’s okay. You’ll be okay Tammy.
I share this because I know my dear friends who have lost their babies know exactly how this feels, and if I can make them feel so not alone, that makes me happy. I share this because writing is therapy for me, and it helps me to process and feel better. I share this because we never know what others are going through.
I was paralyzed for a moment, standing there. I may have looked strange to others. What’s wrong with her? This is a reminder that we never know what others are going through and that we should always be kind and less quick to judgement.
Btw… Rob, in the next store, I found a hoodie that you would have loved and that I would have totally bought for you. 💙