I recently went to the place where Darren took his life. i went there and just sat, then walked all around the area. As I walked, all I could think of is receiving the news that awful evening and then later on when I received the police and autopsy report.
Walking around there, I thought of every detail in both reports and how, almost a year later, it still doesn’t make sense…the whole day, the evening, when I was awakened in the wee hours of the morning, the timeline between what’s in the report, what I’ve heard from other people and text messages that somewhat detail his last evening. Mind you, I don’t have all the text messages, but I have some from him to a certain someone and certain someone’s replies. That whole first week continues to play on repeat in my head. The weeks after and then the months that followed until we are here.
It’s a day that I will never forget. Like his birth, it is a day etched into my brain. Time has continued to go by since his death, but I feel I am standing still. My faith is darn near nonexistent these days. I don’t really know what I believe anymore. My conversations with God are all that sweet, but chock full of anger and questions. Someone recently told me that he would like to pray with me. Hmm…..not so sure about that. I mean, I’m not so sure prayer helps. You see, I prayed the day before Darren died. I prayed for him to have strength to get through what he was going through. I prayed for his safety. I prayed for his present and for his future. The next day, he died. Prayer killed my son. So, no, I don’t trust prayer.
And so, here I am. One year later and still just as lost as I was that first week. Time has not stood still. Time has not changed anything. But I have stood still, lost. I may have changed, but my grief has not. We may go through every day in the here and now, but my heart is stuck and my mind is confused. My questions have only increased and I am in limbo.