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It's been two years...

ThoughtEx.

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On Feb 10, 2017, my life changed forever.

My two year old son passed away.

I've never had much of a family. On my mother's side, I was cast out for not conforming. On my father's side, I was told I wasn't even my father's child. My whole life, I didn't have family. No one that cared whether I lived or died. It made me hard, mean. For the longest time, I didn't think I could feel. My parent's went to jail when I was 16, and I had to take care of my brother and myself after that. I finished highschool, went to college, even got myself a scholarship. All on my own.

In college, I partied, drank, did drugs, got into fights, never went to class, and only took the midterms. Graduated at the top. Then I drifted across the States and Mexico. Doing odd jobs, selling drugs, loan sharking, and trying my hand as a bookie. I went to college for the party, not the degree, and it was free.

I was 24, living in a trailer park in TX hiding from the Klan, and working for a car rental agency when I first met my wife. I had dated, I was good with women. But I never felt anything for them.

She is the only truly good person I've ever met in my life. One who has no ulterior motives when she offers to help. Who tries her hardest, and feels the failure most. And she loved me. At the time, you would've found that hard to believe.

With her, I discovered I wasn't a sociopath. I felt an emotion for another person for the first time. And it grew. She became my family. The first one I ever had. And I took her on adventures. I showed her the world. She made me want to be good. And so I stopped hurting people. I started helping people.

And my first child came along, my daughter. And for the first time, I felt what it was like to love something so much you would die for it. I wasn't even there for her birth, I was stuck in the States, while my wife was in Canada with her family. And I missed alot of her first years, working, in sales 100 hour weeks.

And it hurt. By the time my second child had come along, I was the boss. So, I setup my virtual office, converted our entire region to a new digital system that allowed for digital signatures. And I moved to Canada and became a stay at home dad. I worked from home.

I never missed a day of his life. Not one. I changed every diaper. I stayed up with him every night. I fed him every bottle. He was my son. Mine. I taught him how to walk. I taught him his first word. He was my world. My entire world.

It wasn't easy. Society isn't very accepting of stay at home dads. Even though I am wealthy, when my wife decided to go to work because she missed it, I was looked down upon. Our neighbor at the time an old woman would prowl around our house, and call child services and the police on me whenever one of my kids would cry. I once had someone scratch goof on my door. Which in Canada meant pedophile.

But I didn't care. I had my own family.
 

ThoughtEx.

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I was happy. Everything was perfect.

That day, I woke up early and made biscuits and gravy. He was feeling a bit sick, but he still played in the flour. He'd sit on the floor, puffing out his cheeks making noises as he moved the flour. We watched some Backyardigans. Played with Blocks. And went grocery shopping. At the store I bought some cold and flu medicine for toddlers. When we got home, I thought I'll give this to him after his nap.

And then he never woke up.

He died of an upper respiratory infection complicated by the flu. He caught it from his sister, who caught it from school. It was a particularly nasty flu that killed 12 kids in town that year.

I thought that a little sleep would do him some good, so I let him take an longer nap. When I went to check on him. He was face down, and lifeless. I performed cpr immediately. His little eyes were open. He had woken up and choked on his own phlegm.

He died and I was one room away.

I stopped just long enough to call 911. It took them 20 mins to get there. 20 Mins of me trying to breath life into my son. Watching the phlegm come out, hearing the sound of my air leaving his lungs in a death rattle. The way his eyes were glossy.

I see these things everytime I close my eyes. Even two years later. Everytime.

I failed him. It was my job to protect him, and I failed. It doesn't matter that i couldn't have known. It doesn't matter that he likely would've died if I had taken him to the hospital before he stopped breathing.

My son lay dying alone less than 30 feet from me, and I did nothing. All alone. Scared. Not understanding what was happening to him. While I sat at a computer reading a book.

He is never going to have his first kiss. Read his first book. Go to his first day of school. Graduate. Have a family of his own. Because I couldn't protect him. He was robbed of so much. And he would have been magnificent.

No one blames me. And even though my wife and I are growing apart over this thing we can't talk about, she still loves me as much as the day we got married. It's me that's the problem. I can't talk to anyone, not her, it hurts her. Why would I hurt her, just to make myself feel better. So I hold it in.

Her family was there for her. She always getting calls, asking how she's doing. Offering condolences. Checking up on her. The only people to ask me how I was doing, was Nota Bene and MaggieD on this forum. I guess that's what you get when you've been mean as a junkyard dog your whole life.

I'm surrounded by people who love me, and yet I feel alone.

To be honest, the only reason I haven't killed myself, is my daughter. I don't want her to feel anymore loss.

My mother died Feb 7, 1 year after my son. It came as a surprise. We were estranged, last time we spoke was when I was stabbed, well before I married. But, as much as I hated her, I still loved her, and it happened when my emotions were at it's rawest. I almost went home, risking death for her funeral.

I would have killed myself by now, if it were not for my daughter. I have no joy in my life, everything is ash in my mouth. And it all seems pointless. But, my death would make my daughter feel this way. And I love her to much to do that to her.

So I'm not a suicide risk, but I do see the appeal of death. That endless sleep. That relief from hell. I miss when i couldn't feel at all. Sometimes I think, maybe I did die, and I am in hell. What better torment is there than a man building a perfect life, only to take it away on a random day in Feb.

I'm tired of being strong. I'm tired of being the stoic pillar that holds it together for everyone. I'm tired of the sleepless nights and the nightmares. I'm tired of the flashbacks. I'm tired of the slightest thing causing an anxiety attack. I'm tired.

I have to smoke a quarter ounze of weed every night just to fall asleep. But I don't smoke around the anniversary of his death. I want to feel it all, I feel I owe him that. This grief and pain. I need to feel it for him. So I stay sober.

I've come to hate the world. All the people in it, that waste so much. The people that live blessed lives from the day they are born and hold no empathy for others and think only of themselves. I look at the world today, and realize it wasn't worthy of him or my daughter. And it angers me.

It's a level of hate I haven't felt since I was a kid.

I'm broken, and I can't be fixed.
 

Tim the plumber

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Wow, you are hurt. A lot of hurt.

You are damaged, but not broken. You can heal, there will always be a lot of scar tissue.

You are never going to be able to do this alone. You will need help. You will need to be there for your daughter as she grows up and she needs a nice happy daddy.

Me, I'm a plumber. I can fix your shower. I can fix your drains. You don't need the best plumber in the world to do these things, any of us will do, well most of us, there are bad ones..

Your problems are not unique. They are big and you have no idea how to deal with them. No road map of how to get through your grief.

Get greif counciling for you and the rest of your family. You, and your wife need it most intensively but everybody around needs a look at the map.

This is a forum, like this one, but for grief stuff rather than the attack thing we do here.

https://support.sueryder.org/commun...oCHjUnnMcxIkO22Pp3R3wl79L5tkwlzhoCB1AQAvD_BwE

Mods: Sorry, broke the rules there but.....

You need to travel this road, with all the pain, and get to a wrokable place and not destroy the rest of your life, you have so much to give to the world.
 

Hawkeye10

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I was happy. Everything was perfect.

That day, I woke up early and made biscuits and gravy. He was feeling a bit sick, but he still played in the flour. He'd sit on the floor, puffing out his cheeks making noises as he moved the flour. We watched some Backyardigans. Played with Blocks. And went grocery shopping. At the store I bought some cold and flu medicine for toddlers. When we got home, I thought I'll give this to him after his nap.

And then he never woke up.

He died of an upper respiratory infection complicated by the flu. He caught it from his sister, who caught it from school. It was a particularly nasty flu that killed 12 kids in town that year.

I thought that a little sleep would do him some good, so I let him take an longer nap. When I went to check on him. He was face down, and lifeless. I performed cpr immediately. His little eyes were open. He had woken up and choked on his own phlegm.

He died and I was one room away.

I stopped just long enough to call 911. It took them 20 mins to get there. 20 Mins of me trying to breath life into my son. Watching the phlegm come out, hearing the sound of my air leaving his lungs in a death rattle. The way his eyes were glossy.

I see these things everytime I close my eyes. Even two years later. Everytime.

I failed him. It was my job to protect him, and I failed. It doesn't matter that i couldn't have known. It doesn't matter that he likely would've died if I had taken him to the hospital before he stopped breathing.

My son lay dying alone less than 30 feet from me, and I did nothing. All alone. Scared. Not understanding what was happening to him. While I sat at a computer reading a book.

He is never going to have his first kiss. Read his first book. Go to his first day of school. Graduate. Have a family of his own. Because I couldn't protect him. He was robbed of so much. And he would have been magnificent.

No one blames me. And even though my wife and I are growing apart over this thing we can't talk about, she still loves me as much as the day we got married. It's me that's the problem. I can't talk to anyone, not her, it hurts her. Why would I hurt her, just to make myself feel better. So I hold it in.

Her family was there for her. She always getting calls, asking how she's doing. Offering condolences. Checking up on her. The only people to ask me how I was doing, was Nota Bene and MaggieD on this forum. I guess that's what you get when you've been mean as a junkyard dog your whole life.

I'm surrounded by people who love me, and yet I feel alone.

To be honest, the only reason I haven't killed myself, is my daughter. I don't want her to feel anymore loss.

My mother died Feb 7, 1 year after my son. It came as a surprise. We were estranged, last time we spoke was when I was stabbed, well before I married. But, as much as I hated her, I still loved her, and it happened when my emotions were at it's rawest. I almost went home, risking death for her funeral.

I would have killed myself by now, if it were not for my daughter. I have no joy in my life, everything is ash in my mouth. And it all seems pointless. But, my death would make my daughter feel this way. And I love her to much to do that to her.

So I'm not a suicide risk, but I do see the appeal of death. That endless sleep. That relief from hell. I miss when i couldn't feel at all. Sometimes I think, maybe I did die, and I am in hell. What better torment is there than a man building a perfect life, only to take it away on a random day in Feb.

I'm tired of being strong. I'm tired of being the stoic pillar that holds it together for everyone. I'm tired of the sleepless nights and the nightmares. I'm tired of the flashbacks. I'm tired of the slightest thing causing an anxiety attack. I'm tired.

I have to smoke a quarter ounze of weed every night just to fall asleep. But I don't smoke around the anniversary of his death. I want to feel it all, I feel I owe him that. This grief and pain. I need to feel it for him. So I stay sober.

I've come to hate the world. All the people in it, that waste so much. The people that live blessed lives from the day they are born and hold no empathy for others and think only of themselves. I look at the world today, and realize it wasn't worthy of him or my daughter. And it angers me.

It's a level of hate I haven't felt since I was a kid.

I'm broken, and I can't be fixed.

That is some fine story telling..... I am pleased to meet you.
 

ThoughtEx.

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That is some fine story telling..... I am pleased to meet you.

You called it a story 2 years ago as well, back then I was feeling it for the first time and didn't respond. You wondered why I would come to a forum to talk about it.

**** you Hawkeye, You're a human piece of garbage, and I don't care if I get points for saying it. Go the **** away, and never quote me again mother****er.
 

KevinKohler

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You're not broken, but you're not going to get better. You're simply no longer able to be the person you were. Everything is going to remind you of your son. You're going to have to learn to live with that, and to do it with a smile, because that's what your daughter needs, and deserves. Once she's in her 20s, you get a pass, my permission, if you will, to show your true colors. Till then? Your daughter deserves sunshine and happiness. You have to lie to her convincingly, or the charade won't matter. I knows that's probably not what you want to hear, but I also know that you already know this. You're a smart man. You can do this. What you want, was never an option, never a consideration. Your wants died, 2 years ago. Give your daughter her childhood, see her off to college, see her life started. Yours can't end till then.
 

Tim the plumber

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You're not broken, but you're not going to get better. You're simply no longer able to be the person you were. Everything is going to remind you of your son. You're going to have to learn to live with that, and to do it with a smile, because that's what your daughter needs, and deserves. Once she's in her 20s, you get a pass, my permission, if you will, to show your true colors. Till then? Your daughter deserves sunshine and happiness. You have to lie to her convincingly, or the charade won't matter. I knows that's probably not what you want to hear, but I also know that you already know this. You're a smart man. You can do this. What you want, was never an option, never a consideration. Your wants died, 2 years ago. Give your daughter her childhood, see her off to college, see her life started. Yours can't end till then.

No.

You, ThoughtEx, need to be OK on the inside. Trying to keep it together just on the outside will not work.

You are allowed to cry. Allowed to cry for a week if you want to. Whenever you want to. You will need proper professional counciling to get through this. It will, probably, work. You will get the map of how to walk this road.
 

calamity

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I was happy. Everything was perfect.

That day, I woke up early and made biscuits and gravy. He was feeling a bit sick, but he still played in the flour. He'd sit on the floor, puffing out his cheeks making noises as he moved the flour. We watched some Backyardigans. Played with Blocks. And went grocery shopping. At the store I bought some cold and flu medicine for toddlers. When we got home, I thought I'll give this to him after his nap.

And then he never woke up.

He died of an upper respiratory infection complicated by the flu. He caught it from his sister, who caught it from school. It was a particularly nasty flu that killed 12 kids in town that year.

I thought that a little sleep would do him some good, so I let him take an longer nap. When I went to check on him. He was face down, and lifeless. I performed cpr immediately. His little eyes were open. He had woken up and choked on his own phlegm.

He died and I was one room away.

I stopped just long enough to call 911. It took them 20 mins to get there. 20 Mins of me trying to breath life into my son. Watching the phlegm come out, hearing the sound of my air leaving his lungs in a death rattle. The way his eyes were glossy.

I see these things everytime I close my eyes. Even two years later. Everytime.

I failed him. It was my job to protect him, and I failed. It doesn't matter that i couldn't have known. It doesn't matter that he likely would've died if I had taken him to the hospital before he stopped breathing.

My son lay dying alone less than 30 feet from me, and I did nothing. All alone. Scared. Not understanding what was happening to him. While I sat at a computer reading a book.

He is never going to have his first kiss. Read his first book. Go to his first day of school. Graduate. Have a family of his own. Because I couldn't protect him. He was robbed of so much. And he would have been magnificent.

No one blames me. And even though my wife and I are growing apart over this thing we can't talk about, she still loves me as much as the day we got married. It's me that's the problem. I can't talk to anyone, not her, it hurts her. Why would I hurt her, just to make myself feel better. So I hold it in.

Her family was there for her. She always getting calls, asking how she's doing. Offering condolences. Checking up on her. The only people to ask me how I was doing, was Nota Bene and MaggieD on this forum. I guess that's what you get when you've been mean as a junkyard dog your whole life.

I'm surrounded by people who love me, and yet I feel alone.

To be honest, the only reason I haven't killed myself, is my daughter. I don't want her to feel anymore loss.

My mother died Feb 7, 1 year after my son. It came as a surprise. We were estranged, last time we spoke was when I was stabbed, well before I married. But, as much as I hated her, I still loved her, and it happened when my emotions were at it's rawest. I almost went home, risking death for her funeral.

I would have killed myself by now, if it were not for my daughter. I have no joy in my life, everything is ash in my mouth. And it all seems pointless. But, my death would make my daughter feel this way. And I love her to much to do that to her.

So I'm not a suicide risk, but I do see the appeal of death. That endless sleep. That relief from hell. I miss when i couldn't feel at all. Sometimes I think, maybe I did die, and I am in hell. What better torment is there than a man building a perfect life, only to take it away on a random day in Feb.

I'm tired of being strong. I'm tired of being the stoic pillar that holds it together for everyone. I'm tired of the sleepless nights and the nightmares. I'm tired of the flashbacks. I'm tired of the slightest thing causing an anxiety attack. I'm tired.

I have to smoke a quarter ounze of weed every night just to fall asleep. But I don't smoke around the anniversary of his death. I want to feel it all, I feel I owe him that. This grief and pain. I need to feel it for him. So I stay sober.

I've come to hate the world. All the people in it, that waste so much. The people that live blessed lives from the day they are born and hold no empathy for others and think only of themselves. I look at the world today, and realize it wasn't worthy of him or my daughter. And it angers me.

It's a level of hate I haven't felt since I was a kid.

I'm broken, and I can't be fixed.

Yep, think about who loves you. And then do what you can for the person/people who need you. Hopefully that will be enough to pull you through.
 

marke

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On Feb 10, 2017, my life changed forever.

My two year old son passed away.

I've never had much of a family. On my mother's side, I was cast out for not conforming. On my father's side, I was told I wasn't even my father's child. My whole life, I didn't have family. No one that cared whether I lived or died. It made me hard, mean. For the longest time, I didn't think I could feel. My parent's went to jail when I was 16, and I had to take care of my brother and myself after that. I finished highschool, went to college, even got myself a scholarship. All on my own.

In college, I partied, drank, did drugs, got into fights, never went to class, and only took the midterms. Graduated at the top. Then I drifted across the States and Mexico. Doing odd jobs, selling drugs, loan sharking, and trying my hand as a bookie. I went to college for the party, not the degree, and it was free.

I was 24, living in a trailer park in TX hiding from the Klan, and working for a car rental agency when I first met my wife. I had dated, I was good with women. But I never felt anything for them.

She is the only truly good person I've ever met in my life. One who has no ulterior motives when she offers to help. Who tries her hardest, and feels the failure most. And she loved me. At the time, you would've found that hard to believe.

With her, I discovered I wasn't a sociopath. I felt an emotion for another person for the first time. And it grew. She became my family. The first one I ever had. And I took her on adventures. I showed her the world. She made me want to be good. And so I stopped hurting people. I started helping people.

And my first child came along, my daughter. And for the first time, I felt what it was like to love something so much you would die for it. I wasn't even there for her birth, I was stuck in the States, while my wife was in Canada with her family. And I missed alot of her first years, working, in sales 100 hour weeks.

And it hurt. By the time my second child had come along, I was the boss. So, I setup my virtual office, converted our entire region to a new digital system that allowed for digital signatures. And I moved to Canada and became a stay at home dad. I worked from home.

I never missed a day of his life. Not one. I changed every diaper. I stayed up with him every night. I fed him every bottle. He was my son. Mine. I taught him how to walk. I taught him his first word. He was my world. My entire world.

It wasn't easy. Society isn't very accepting of stay at home dads. Even though I am wealthy, when my wife decided to go to work because she missed it, I was looked down upon. Our neighbor at the time an old woman would prowl around our house, and call child services and the police on me whenever one of my kids would cry. I once had someone scratch goof on my door. Which in Canada meant pedophile.

But I didn't care. I had my own family.

My wife and I also lost an infant son, 30 years ago. Nobody can really provide enough sympathy to take the pain away, but Jesus has proven to ever be a friend who sticks closer than a brother. I am sorry for your loss.
 

charliebrown

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I genuinely give my condolences and am very very sorry for your lose.

You stated you have a wife and daughter, they are going thru pain as well as you so please, please,please do not forget the love surrounding you. Grieving is not a female emotion, it is a human emotion. accept it and grieve as openly and as often as you want. It is the best way to get ever a situation where it absolutely feels like your heart has been ripped out of your chest.

PS, Never, ever, ever worry about what other people think about you unless those people are loved and respected by you. For every person that may be looking down on you, there are as many people looking up too you. You did something that is amazing by adapting your environment for the benefit of the family verses having the environment have you adapt. The world absolutely needs more individual like you.

The fact that you do not have an extended family hurts me. If I can give you advice from someone with a huge family you can take it or not. Because I have a huge family, I get to see the entire gambit of happiness and lose. I lived thru loses of young children within my immediate and extended family more than once. In every case, the family members most effected by the lose survived. You will also.

You actually now have a gist of truly understanding how precious life really is. Embrace that wonderful woman and that wonderful daughter like it is the last time you will see them. If you do that, you will grow as a human being.

this world is a very difficult place and in the end, when you have reached the ripe old age and look back on that life, you want to have as many memory's of loved ones as possible. Do that and you will have lived an amazing life young man!!
 

ThoughtEx.

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Thanks guys, sometimes you just need to unload all the crap. I don't go to bars, and I don't have a priest, and my psychiatrist just wants to give me drugs. I tried the drugs, the drugs made me see weird cats all the time.
 

KevinKohler

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No.

You, ThoughtEx, need to be OK on the inside. Trying to keep it together just on the outside will not work.

You are allowed to cry. Allowed to cry for a week if you want to. Whenever you want to. You will need proper professional counciling to get through this. It will, probably, work. You will get the map of how to walk this road.

I'm not going to disagree with you, as everyone is different. I tried that rout when my best friend killed himself, because that was what the grief counselors said to do. Didn't work. Wasn't till I met my wife...and even then, not till my daughter was born, that things got measurably better for me, emotionally. I was 24 when I met my wife, and 28 when my daughter was born. My friend died when I was 17. Counseling didn't work, talking about it was just a reminder, peoples pitty made me angry, guilt kept me lock into this...ball of self hating anger...for a decade.
 

Tim the plumber

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Thanks guys, sometimes you just need to unload all the crap. I don't go to bars, and I don't have a priest, and my psychiatrist just wants to give me drugs. I tried the drugs, the drugs made me see weird cats all the time.

Sounds like you have one of the bad psychiatrists. Try another if that does not work, er, well, good luck. Feel free to unload here if you wish...
 

ThoughtEx.

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Sounds like you have one of the bad psychiatrists. Try another if that does not work, er, well, good luck. Feel free to unload here if you wish...

It's a remote area, which unfortunately means you are stuck with what you got 10/10 times.
 

<alt>doxygen

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Thanks guys, sometimes you just need to unload all the crap. I don't go to bars, and I don't have a priest, and my psychiatrist just wants to give me drugs. I tried the drugs, the drugs made me see weird cats all the time.

Hang in there any way you can. Do one day at a time.

It's hard, I know. There are a lot of seconds in a day.

Some shrinks are more "med management" than actual counselors. Sounds like you got one of those. Try to keep looking until you find one you actually click with.
 

Tim the plumber

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ThoughtEx.

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Tim the plumber

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That could help, hadn't considered online options. Or even knew that they existed.

Thanks.

I read a book. It helped. Different problem but...

And please keep in mind that you are very very obviously not at all a nasty person. Well, given a chance...

You have taken up the responsibility of parenting your brother when you should not have had to do it. You did it.

You have taken up the responsibility and pleasure of loving your wife. Then your children and done a 200% job of it. Biology then droped a mountain on you.

All that love is still inside your hurt mind.

Good luck.
 

Skeptic Bob

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Even the thought of losing one of my sons is too painful to bear. So I can't imagine what it is like for you. However, I know the PTSD symptoms you describe like the back of my hand. I too use weed before going to sleep to prevent the nightmares. Though the reason that stops the nightmares is because it screws up your sleep cycle so you don't dream. So one should avoid doing it every night. And yeah, that is MUCH easier to say than do.

I don't have any answer for you, brother, but I have a PM inbox and am always available to talk.
 

Mr Person

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I'm broken, and I can't be fixed.

I don't have the words, but I am so so very sorry. I'm so sorry.

All I can say is: I praise you deeply for staying for your daughter, and while I may not be religious I truly pray that at least something like a scab will form, some day.
 
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Kal'Stang

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2 years ago as well

I'm sorry that I did not know about this the first time you talked about it. I do not come into these sections of the forum often.

I would say sorry for your loss, but frankly you are probably not wanting to be felt sorry for. So instead I will give you this.

I have always worried about my children. I had heard of stories such as yours. I say stories because, at the time, that's all they were. Stories. But because of those stories I always checked in on my kids when they were sleeping, particularly when they had colds. I still do every night, even when they're not sick. But yours...yours is not a story. For the first time its not a story for me. It's real. And I don't know whether to curse you for it, or thank you. Curse you because my worrying will now be tripled (at least). Thank you for the same reason.

What you have said here will not be wasted on me ThoughtEx. I promise you that.

I wish for all the world that I could take your pain away. No father or mother should out live their child. That is the greatest wrong that can be had by anyone.
 

FreedomFromAll

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I was happy. Everything was perfect.

That day, I woke up early and made biscuits and gravy. He was feeling a bit sick, but he still played in the flour. He'd sit on the floor, puffing out his cheeks making noises as he moved the flour. We watched some Backyardigans. Played with Blocks. And went grocery shopping. At the store I bought some cold and flu medicine for toddlers. When we got home, I thought I'll give this to him after his nap.

And then he never woke up.

He died of an upper respiratory infection complicated by the flu. He caught it from his sister, who caught it from school. It was a particularly nasty flu that killed 12 kids in town that year.

I thought that a little sleep would do him some good, so I let him take an longer nap. When I went to check on him. He was face down, and lifeless. I performed cpr immediately. His little eyes were open. He had woken up and choked on his own phlegm.

He died and I was one room away.

I stopped just long enough to call 911. It took them 20 mins to get there. 20 Mins of me trying to breath life into my son. Watching the phlegm come out, hearing the sound of my air leaving his lungs in a death rattle. The way his eyes were glossy.

I see these things everytime I close my eyes. Even two years later. Everytime.

I failed him. It was my job to protect him, and I failed. It doesn't matter that i couldn't have known. It doesn't matter that he likely would've died if I had taken him to the hospital before he stopped breathing.

My son lay dying alone less than 30 feet from me, and I did nothing. All alone. Scared. Not understanding what was happening to him. While I sat at a computer reading a book.

He is never going to have his first kiss. Read his first book. Go to his first day of school. Graduate. Have a family of his own. Because I couldn't protect him. He was robbed of so much. And he would have been magnificent.

No one blames me. And even though my wife and I are growing apart over this thing we can't talk about, she still loves me as much as the day we got married. It's me that's the problem. I can't talk to anyone, not her, it hurts her. Why would I hurt her, just to make myself feel better. So I hold it in.

Her family was there for her. She always getting calls, asking how she's doing. Offering condolences. Checking up on her. The only people to ask me how I was doing, was Nota Bene and MaggieD on this forum. I guess that's what you get when you've been mean as a junkyard dog your whole life.

I'm surrounded by people who love me, and yet I feel alone.

To be honest, the only reason I haven't killed myself, is my daughter. I don't want her to feel anymore loss.

My mother died Feb 7, 1 year after my son. It came as a surprise. We were estranged, last time we spoke was when I was stabbed, well before I married. But, as much as I hated her, I still loved her, and it happened when my emotions were at it's rawest. I almost went home, risking death for her funeral.

I would have killed myself by now, if it were not for my daughter. I have no joy in my life, everything is ash in my mouth. And it all seems pointless. But, my death would make my daughter feel this way. And I love her to much to do that to her.

So I'm not a suicide risk, but I do see the appeal of death. That endless sleep. That relief from hell. I miss when i couldn't feel at all. Sometimes I think, maybe I did die, and I am in hell. What better torment is there than a man building a perfect life, only to take it away on a random day in Feb.

I'm tired of being strong. I'm tired of being the stoic pillar that holds it together for everyone. I'm tired of the sleepless nights and the nightmares. I'm tired of the flashbacks. I'm tired of the slightest thing causing an anxiety attack. I'm tired.

I have to smoke a quarter ounze of weed every night just to fall asleep. But I don't smoke around the anniversary of his death. I want to feel it all, I feel I owe him that. This grief and pain. I need to feel it for him. So I stay sober.

I've come to hate the world. All the people in it, that waste so much. The people that live blessed lives from the day they are born and hold no empathy for others and think only of themselves. I look at the world today, and realize it wasn't worthy of him or my daughter. And it angers me.

It's a level of hate I haven't felt since I was a kid.

I'm broken, and I can't be fixed.

Try to communicate with your wife, I am sure that is what your son would want. And do it for your daughter, she needs both of you. ANd lets not forget do it for your wife, I am sure that she is just as tormented as you are. Talk....
 

Superfly

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Thanks guys, sometimes you just need to unload all the crap. I don't go to bars, and I don't have a priest, and my psychiatrist just wants to give me drugs. I tried the drugs, the drugs made me see weird cats all the time.

You don't need a psychiatrist, my friend. You need a psychologist, or a grief therapist, and you need it immediately, if not sooner.

All psychiatrists do these days are dispense medication. You need therapy. Major therapy, and by and large, psychiatrists don't really do that anymore.

I am so, so sorry for your loss. Your post broke my heart. I wasn't here 2 years ago when this happened to you, but if there is anything you need, just let me know via PM. Even if you just want to talk, I am here for you. <hug>
 
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