"I've got him."
We pinkie swore many years ago that whomever passed first would “come back” and let the other know all is well. Just a nudge, a wink, or even a whisper. It was something we mentioned several times, mainly in jest. Although I am a logical, somewhat skeptical person (OK, more than somewhat skeptical), I have expected to see, hear or feel Bryce’s presence. So far...nothing. If I didn’t feel so numb, I’d feel abandoned. I understand I’m asking for miracles, but some people get them, don’t they? I have been with Bryce almost every day for nearly six years, and it just feels wrong that he isn’t with me. Perhaps this is a stage in my own grief I must endure, and it too will pass.
Grief is totally unpredictable. One moment is fine, although I’m aware of Bryce’s absence. Out of the blue, a tidal wave of loneliness, sadness and despair washes over me, fills me, drowns me. I can’t fathom this new reality. At least it’s a feeling, though. Feelings are always better than the black hole that sucks every emotion away, leaving me empty and listless—a human shell. Keeping these feelings at bay has become a full time job. If my body is moving and my mind is occupied, there isn’t much room for sorrow. When I slow down, the wave threatens to overtake me again. How long can I outrun it? Family and friends have pulled me out of the murky depths by taking me out, visiting, and otherwise distracting me. My best friend flew out from Connecticut for a few days, which was a welcome reprieve. It was nice to feel alive, albeit briefly. We kept fairly busy, but in those still, dark moments, the sorrow found me. I cannot hide from it.
As I go through all these emotions, one thing buoys my spirit. I KNOW there is something more. I cannot deny it, because Bryce let me know. It is a moment I have told few people about, yet I alluded to it in a previous post. I felt him go. I wasn’t looking for it, waiting for it, or expecting it. After he drew his last breath, we all watched him. We knew. I reached down and removed his breathing mask. I turned around to look at my dad, when suddenly my body was overcome by a sensation I find hard to describe. It was like a low voltage zap that lasted four or five seconds. I couldn’t breathe, see straight or stand upright. I was lifted, warmed, enveloped—it was euphoric. I remember saying, “I’ve got him.” I did. As quickly as it came over me, it left. It was his gift to me; a gift I cannot deny nor logic away. It was the most horrible and wonderful thing to ever have happened. I would give anything to feel that again. Perhaps I should have kept this moment locked in my most sacred vault, but my hope is sharing this moment will bring somebody peace.
Such conflicting emotions. Is he with me, or am I alone? Would I experience that same overwhelming feeling if he were here, or must I rely on hope and faith? The ever-present battle between my mind and my heart continues. I hope my heart wins. It’s the happier ending.