Two Years, 730 Days

I am literally sitting here trying to decide what direction to go with this post. Part of me wants to write to Hudson and tell him all the things he has missed. Part of me wants to go on an angry rage and call out all the people that hurt Hudson, that have hurt us… but that won’t bring Hudson back. Part of me wants to write to all the people with the thoughts of suicide, to hopefully relate to them and get them the help they need, but I think regardless this post will help.

 Instead I think I will write to those who have also lost a child to suicide and to those that haven’t. If you have lost a child to suicide please know that this is only year two for me and to those that haven’t lost a child I hope you listen to my experience and do everything in your power to not find yourself here.  

On January 26, 2018 at 11pm you will have been gone 730 days. It feels like just yesterday. I have learned that time can be a very strange thing. In some moments I feel like I haven’t heard  Hudson or seen him in years but then the next moment I find myself expecting him to walk through the door.

I still talk about Hudson at any given opportunity. I see the looks that people give me, but talking about Hudson allows him to still be a part of my life. If you took a five second block of time imagine the first 2.5 seconds happy and reliving what my normal life was and then literally the next 2.5 seconds try to hold it all together after you just realized that isn’t your life anymore.

I don’t really wonder where our lives would be if Hudson was still here, dreaming hurts to bad. Instead I look back and try to remember the details of the relationship we had. I try to remember the little moments and I desperately try to remember his voice, the sounds he made, the way his hands always smelled like spit, the way he would laugh. I try to look back and find the signs I missed or ignored because “there is no way Hudson would ever do that”. When I can’t remember I sneak to the basement and open a bin with his worn white Nike high tops and clothes and I burry my head in the bin and just inhale, I often question whether it is him I am smelling or just what clothes that have been stored for two years smell like but none the less I smell and then breakdown and cry. Yes, two years in and I still cry weekly. I tear up daily, they just don’t always drop.

Two years and we speak his name daily in some way. Sometimes it is because we slip up and call Kellen Hudson. Mainly it is when Nora or Kellen do something or say something that reminds us so much of Hudson we often wonder if Hudson is living through his siblings. Nora was only 5 months old when Hudson passed but ask her where bubby Hudsey is and she will take you to one of three places:

1. His lantern where his picture rests

 2. The painting a family friend gifted us that is the ONLY family photo of all five us we have

 3. Her room (still trying to understand this one)

Before our loss I never thought to look for signs of lost loved ones, I haven’t really lost anyone. Now every time something strange happens my reaction is “Hudson”. When my radio at work goes from volume 7 to 15 or shuts off randomly. When our lights above the bar flicker on and off I think of Hudson and most days say his name aloud in a mom tone…almost like I know that’s you bud. When I look outside and it is -10 outside and see two cardinals and a squirrel I wonder if that is you. When every time we go to the cemetery we see wildlife or we get a picture perfect sign like Dad getting hit in the head with an acorn. It is almost like as a mother you are on guard a lot, always looking to make sure your children are safe so you take that habit and just turn that into looking for signs.

I have never dreamt of Hudson, well if I have I don’t remember. I think this is the hardest for me to understand. I want so desperately to see him and to know that he is ok to better understand the why behind his death.  I call it the “why circle” where it is just question after question that mainly start with why. It is horrible circle to get your head into and one where I could spend hours trying to figure it all out.

Something I have learned the last two years? Don’t be too hard on yourself. The first year I was numb, I truly was. I powered through and pushed myself entirely too hard. Year two I have allowed myself to grieve and allow my feelings to show versus pushing them down and putting my face on. I have really spent time working on who is worthy of my time. I have filtered out employers, friends and family because when I have a good day that day needs to be spent with those that truly need me. I value my time because I have learned the hardest lesson yet, time is something you can’t get back.

To those that are in this with me don’t be hard on yourself, take five minutes at a time. Everyone grieves differently; my triggers are not the same as my husbands. To those that don’t want to understand this ask the questions:

1.       Are you having thoughts of suicide

2.       Do you have a plan in place

3.       Have you attempted to end your life

Are they awkward to ask? Yes, they are. Is it also awkward to visit your child on Christmas day at the cemetery? Yes, it is awkward and horrible and nothing I wish on my worst enemies.

The rates are climbing in the wrong direction and sadly I still see parents that just don’t get it or think this will never happen to them. Well, I was one of those parents and now I know that suicide can happen to anyone and that when you lose a child to suicide your life… well your life… is hell.