Suicide Awareness

3%

It’s amazing how many moments in time there are that set me off. A word, a song, a picture, a sound, a movie, a color, a texture, etc. It never ends. The result can vary anywhere from a smile, a stare into space, a tear, or a full on need-a-tissue-because-my-eyes-are-exploding. But I have to admit it’s nice to know I can still feel. I’m not completely lost like I was almost six months ago. I’m about 3% better. Only 97% more to go right?

Reading a comment from my last blog jarred my memory again. This time I get to pick on Cyrene. I can’t remember what birthday it was for Zane, maybe 8 or 9. Cy was staying the weekend since Sissy and Carl were out of town. We were having Zane’s party at the Natatorium swimming pool. He chose eyeballs for the theme that year. Since his birthday is in October, so close to Halloween, finding eyeball decor was not difficult at all. And by the way, his original due date was Halloween.

When the boys were young, I was actually creative. I found a recipe for cake eyeballs. So Cy and I went to baking. Cake…white chocolate…gummie Lifesavers…red/black icing. They turned out so cool! Well, Cy and I couldn’t keep our hands out of the cookie jar. A while later I noticed Cy’s skin turning blotchy red and she was itching. Umm. Hmmm. Oops. The cake batter was strawberry, Cyrene is allergic to strawberry. Epic aunt fail. Zane and Daniel got quite the laugh out of that one. Hello benedryl.

Cyrene, my sunshine, you’ll find Peter Pan. And when you do, tell him his mom says hello. Not everyone can be a mermaid, but Peter always said you were made to be one.

I’ve been told over and over that my blog is worth reading. I hope it’s true. I write from the heart. I don’t think I’ll ever run out of things to say, whether it’s about Zane or life in general. In fact I made a quick trip to Walmart and ran into a high school friend and her son. I couldn’t look at him. My eyes welled up a little as I turned away so they wouldn’t see me. He looks so much like Zane. Taller than his mom. Quiet. Polite (said yes ma’am without skipping a beat). Almost the same sharp haircut. Athletic. Handsome young man. Jamie, you’re doing something right.

Let me talk about Holly Butcher. You might have read about her on Facebook. She recently passed away from a rare form of cancer and wrote a beautiful letter before she left this world. Her and I are on the same page. I believe we are connected. I remember from a post in the beginning of my blog that I talked about people complaining about the simple things. She too wrote this in her letter. In her words…

“Let all that sh*t go..”

You should read her letter. While Holly and Zane died different ways, I hope they are rejoicing together. I hope they meet each other.

To end this blog post, another gym moment…the other day I walked in like I always do, put my bag on the table and proceeded to get my headphones and gloves out. PANIC ATTACK. I heard as plain as day “Mom!”. I looked as fast as I could all around me. The lady on the other side of the table obviously didn’t hear a thing. There was no one else close to me that could have said it that clearly. I’ve been having a few rough days. It just doesn’t get easier my friends, not even that 3%. My sweet baby boy knew I needed to hear his voice.

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