I'm mad!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I’m mad!

Yes, that’s right.  I’m mad.

It’s taken me quite awhile to admit it, but yes I’m mad.  And worse, there’s not a dad blaming thing I can do about it.  It ties my stomach in knots.  It makes me cry.  It makes me scream.  It makes me wanna run for the hills.  It’s the most horrific thing a human can go through and there is nothing that I can do to help it.

Oh yeah, you (most likely) don’t know me and don’t know what the heck I’m talking about.  My husband’s son (RLA) was TRAGICALLY killed in an ATV accident in June of 2009.  A mere 12 days after my husband and I started talking through facebook, he went through the most horrific thing in his life.  I was devastated and misunderstood.  It was hard for me to work, it was hard for me to cry, it was just plain hard. 

However, for my husband (a mere high school friend to reconnect almost 20 years later at the time) it was HELL.  I’m sorry there is no other word for it.  A parent SHOULD NOT have to bury a child.  I know; my grandmother did.  My dad died when I was 9.  It is a defining part of my life and who I am.  I know that life is unfair.  I know that life hurts.  I know that you can lose people.  I know a lot about pain and loss.  However, to lose a child that I will never get to be a step-mother to (which I am convinced is the hardest job on earth, not motherhood!) is hard.  You see, it’s not for me to grieve for him, I didn’t know him.  I will never know first hand what his bear hugs were like; or how infectious his laughter and energy were.  It truly kills me that I will NEVER know these things.  It’s the hardest thing I deal with.  I do my best to keep his memory alive and encourage not only my husband, but also “my girls” to tell me their favorite stories.

Just this weekend I learned about my step-son’s laughter.  How unusual it was.  Nobody can describe it to me.  And we can’t find it on video or audio anywhere.  The four of us (hubby, me and the girls) talked about it for quite some time after family game night.  No one could describe it for me.  No it’s not like Dad’s.  No it’s like Mom’s.  It’s not even a combination of the two.  It was his own signature.  Which I am learning is most of what his life was. 

In thinking about how he and I would interact, I’m sure there would be times my straight-laced strict upbringing would disapprove of his social choices.  However, I think I would  be smiling under my “tough teacher” exterior. 

RLA, I will always love you, and I will always do my best to help your family never forget you.  I hope I get to meet you someday, and I also hope you’ve met my dad up in heaven.  And that you are sharing a laugh or two over your experiences.  As my hubby always says, “Miss ya kiddo, see you on the other side someday. . . . “