Exhausted, really. Run-over-by-a-mac-truck tired. That’s how I feel sometimes. Like I just cannot take one more thing. So physically, emotionally, and mentally tired that simply thinking about what’s going on with J. sometimes exhausts me. Forget about thinking about what lies ahead…that not only exhausts me, it scares the hell out of me.

This feels like such a long road. It’s actually hard for me to remember a time when I wasn’t dealing with this, a time when things were “normal,” whatever that is. Last Sunday was Mother’s Day. Mother’s Day last year, J. was in the first rehab program and I was able to spend a few hours with him, out on a pass. This year I saw him the day before Mother’s Day. We visited, as we have every Saturday since Oct. 19th over a cafeteria table for a couple of hours.

I usually manage to be upbeat. We talk, play cards, and if we’re having an especially good day, we manage to laugh over some silly joke. Last Saturday though, was hard. I don’t know why, it just was. I got choked up and it was all I could do not to let the tears that welled up, spill down my face. Despite my efforts not to let my emotion show, J. noticed and commented, and all I could say was that I miss him. I miss spending time with him somewhere other than the dismal cafeteria of the facility he’s now in. I miss the little things…dinner together, watching tv, joking, laughing, talking about something, anything, other than where he is and why.

To say that I miss him doesn’t really even begin to describe it. I miss him so much. I cannot allow myself to think about it most of the time. If I did, I wouldn’t be able to function at all, and so most of the time I don’t. But…when I do…it’s like a gaping hole in my heart. I desperately want my son back, and there really are no words for the pain I feel. It’s heartbreaking.

I know that it’s pointless to bemoan that things are what they are. I recognize the futility of wishing things were different. I do. Knowing that intellectually though, doesn’t stop me from feeling the loss of what might have been. Doesn’t stop me from wishing he were here. Doesn’t stop me from wishing I could go back and somehow prevent all this from happening. Not simply to prevent my own pain, but to prevent his.