The Emotions Of A Mother

At three a.m., my mom was wide awake and restless.  There was no one left to call or comfort, no doctors left to query, no insurance companies to contact or forms to fill out, no police to badger.  She had been so busy that she had successfully avoided dealing with her grief, which snuck up behind her and knocked her to her knees with a sucker punch in the gut.

While she was down, her emotions climbed all over each other, fighting for her attention.  She felt an uncontrollable anger at the unfairness of it all, and wanted to blame someone for what had happened.

How could Mark have been so foolish to drink so much and pass out in the back of a truck?  Why was Chris driving drunk?  He knows better than that.  What the heck is wrong with these kids?  How could they put us through this?

Then she felt guilty for thinking that and decided to point the finger at herself.

If I had been stricter, tougher, more vigilant, maybe I could have prevented this.  If I had just been a better mother, I could have kept him out of harm's way.  If I had just taught him a little more restraint, we wouldn't be in this situation.

Her sorrow then told her to question a higher power.  My mom grew up in a Catholic household and her mother attended mass every day, but she isn't a religious person.  But at this point she was willing to give anything a try.

How could you let this happen to my son?  He never did anything to hurt anyone.  He's really just a boy.  How could you?  Are you that cruel?

And then came the bargaining that any grief counselor will tell you is normal.

If you let my son survive I will become a better person.  I've learned my lesson.  Please, God, just give us all a second chance.  Please, I'm begging you.

Pg 95-96