My son is dead

My son is dead. I don't usually say that, or rather, I don't usually say it like that. I usually say that he passed away, crossed over, or sometimes I even say he died. He passed away or crossed over sound like something warm and fuzzy happened to him. He died sounds like he achieved something, and well, maybe he did. But I don't usually say he is dead. But he is. And that's the thing. The thing is that my son is dead. And so that's the end?

When I lost him the first time, when he was snatched away, there was the recognition of the initial horror, tremendous flurry of activity, crying and screaming and telephone calls and court hearings. Years passed. Years. But I was always living as the woman whose child had been taken, and my actions were always viewed through that lens. I stopped going to church on Easter because of the children's parade, stopped going on Sundays when the children's choir sang; on the other hand, I poured myself into my teaching job, and made myself available to friends who had young children. And I kept fighting and praying and fighting. Until--miraculously--he came home. I won't write about his coming home in this space at this time, but the point is, he was taken, gone...and then back.

I cannot even say he has been taken this time, though sometimes my feelings boil up and over and I cry out to God--ok, I yell and scream--asking why He took my son. But I think they had an arrangement. I really do. Sekai often thought out loud. His self-talk was often audible. His prayers were audible beyond his bedroom door. Not that I could understand what he was saying, but I could hear that he was talking. I walked in once to get something or do something and I thought he was just thinking out loud, but he very quickly let me know that he was talking with God and I very quickly backed out of his room. Even the way that Sekai talked about "there's no place for me on this earth" and "I want to go to heaven; I know you're not prepared for that mom, but you need to know"...or maybe it was "you need to understand." At any rate, he was going. He told me that he had made up his mind a long time ago. "I"ve been working on this." And we worked, I worked, we worked to get him to change his mind. I won't write about that in this space at this time, but the point is, he was back...and then he was gone. Again. Permanently.

My son is dead. It doesn't go away. I am the woman with the dead son. He isn't coming back until Jesus returns, and even then, maybe he isn't exactly coming back, depending on which interpretation one holds to in terms of the Second Coming and the end of time. Interestingly enough, Sekai used to ask me on a regular basis, "When is the world going to end?"

Sometimes, I feel like mine did on June 10, 2009. My son died. My son is dead. And nothing much makes sense anymore.