An instantaneous wave of deep grief overcame me.
The mind is a powerful thing. Mine had just played a trick on me. For just a matter of a few minutes I had “forgotten” that Jeremy was no longer with us in an earthly manner of speaking. The gut-wrenching, intoxicating grief found in the moment of remembering enveloped me. The loss, pounding in my head, drove me out of my bed and into the kitchen for refuge. Coffee. Maybe coffee would help. I stood in the kitchen doubled over weeping so deeply, so overcome with anguish. My head was spinning, and I felt like I could vomit at any second. “Mama, what's wrong?” Little Eddie sat straight up. He had sought refuge on the coach. Couldn't sleep in his lonesome room. The room that he and Jeremy had shared since Eddie was 17 months old. The day Jeremy was born. Brothers, bunkmates for twelve years. Waves of guilt replace the pain as I wipe the tears off my face. How did I not realize he was sleeping on the coach? Why did I not go outside to scream and cry? I wouldn’t have wanted him to see me this way. I apologized to him, joined him on the couch, and began to tell him what had happened. He held me in a tight embrace and kept saying over and over, “It's ok, Mama. We are going to be ok. It's ok.” As I tried to pull myself together and assure my son that I was "ok," Lil Eddie got teary eyed and said that that happens to him, too. It happens to all of us a lot. More than you could imagine.