But You Were Just Here

People don’t tell you about the thousands of daily mind and emotional battles that go along with grieving someone close to you. They don’t tell you about the gritty little details of the messy, chaotic, lonely, silent, loud, terrifying, gut wrenching, confusing, angering existence that’s left of you after you experience the greatest loss you could ever imagine. How your mind is CONSTANTLY running through every single memory of that person that is no longer with you and these memories punch you over and over again ALL. DAY. LONG. I sometimes wonder where my day has gone. I wake up and all of a sudden, the evening is here. My mind is always wandering through the 18 years I had with you, Nick. Places, Smells, Jeeps, Phrases…they remind me of you and how you are not here anymore.

I have this constant feeling that “you were just here, how can you no longer be here?”. I was JUST hugging you. I was JUST watching you glide through the front door in your work boots. The same boots that are still in your room that we haven’t moved because you placed them perfectly by your bed. In your room that I sit in for long periods of time because you were JUST in there. I get lost in memories and before I know it, I’ve been sitting in that room for an hour or more sobbing because you aren’t there anymore. I JUST saw you in there with your ear pods in, lying on your bed, checking your phone. I walked in and sat on your bed and told you that I missed you because you had been so busy lately and I hadn’t seen you very much. You sat up and hugged me. We talked for a while and caught up. I laughed because you always made me laugh.

Dad and I walked into a restaurant a couple of days ago in Mexico. I was hit with a monsoon of emotions because we were JUST there with you and your sister. Sitting at that little table in front of me. Right by the waitress station. It was a couple of weeks before you left me. I remember what you were wearing. I remember the conversation. I remember the details to that entire day. I had a hard time not sobbing as your dad and I sat down in that restaurant because that simple memory killed me. You aren’t here anymore.

I sit in our quiet living room a lot and look out the window knowing I’m going to see your jeep barrel up the driveway with your music blasting. I JUST saw you do that. The gravel dust floating in a big cloud behind you. Your handsome face bopping to the music. Sunglasses and hat on. Those goofy red, Hawaiian shorts you wore all the time. I remember when you and I were shopping at American Eagle and I told you those shorts HAD to come home with you, so I bought them for you. I have so many pictures of you in those shorts. We loved to shop together.

Sometimes I just randomly say your name out loud like you are standing there and I want to get your attention. Like I used to do all the time. I do this because I will never get to just casually say your name again. Nick. Nicolas. Yo, Nick! It seems I JUST did that, and you turned around and smirked at me at said “yes mama?” And I thought I would be able to casually call for you for the rest of my life. I took that little detail for granted. I said your name last night when I couldn’t sleep again. I was hoping to hear those boots on the wood floor above my room as you walk in from a night out with friends. I JUST heard you walk in not too long ago and I felt relief that you were home safe. I would get a text “I’m home, Mama” or you would come down to my room to say goodnight. Sometimes you would jump in bed with us and update us on your night. You JUST did that Nick.

I have a hard time going to church because you were JUST there, walking in a little late, heading down the aisle to the front or sliding in to sit by me. You would sway to the worship music. I was so proud of how you chose to go to church without us having to nudge you. You went even when we didn’t. It’s so hard to not see you there anymore. Our church is the last time I saw you. It was on the day of your funeral. You were in the red coffin we chose for you. Your beautiful curls looking perfect. It looked like you were sleeping and seemed you would just wake up any minute. I see that vision sometimes when I am sitting there on Sunday mornings. You were JUST there.

The disbelief that this beautiful soul is no longer here when it seems he JUST was, is only one of the many challenges to this grief I’m trudging through every day. It doesn’t seem real that Nick was here one day and not here the next. I miss so many things about that boy and my heart is broken in a million pieces. I may seem fine sometimes when I’m out in public, but the pain is always right there sharing space with the deep love I carry for my son.