PTSD
PTSD is not commonly discussed in relation to grief. It's something that may go unrecognized until moments of overwhelming intensity strike. I vividly recall the day I received the call from the Sheriff; I was in the tub. Since then, mornings have become a battleground for me. The simple act of showering or bathing fills me with terror, as if something dreadful is imminent. I constantly feel the need to be on high alert, my senses heightened to the slightest hint of danger.
Driving has become a harrowing ordeal. Whenever Gabe accompanies me in the car, my mind is consumed with fear—fear of a tragic accident that would leave Tom alone, fear of the same fate when Tom and Gabe are out driving. Every time I witness a police car or ambulance speeding past, my heart clenches in prayer, pleading for the safety of whoever they're rushing to aid. I pray fervently that no other family will endure the anguish we've been through.
As Samson's friends obtain their driver's licenses, I find myself offering prayers for their safety, hoping to spare their parents from the agony we're enduring. Passing by hospitals triggers panic within me—a visceral reminder of the last moments I spent with my son.
Not long ago, I had to visit the doctor. When she suggested that I go to the ER, I felt a wave of panic engulf me. I couldn't bear the thought of stepping foot into an emergency room, not after leaving my son in a hospital room, never to see him again. The mere mention of it brought forth a flood of tears, and I pleaded with her to explore any alternative.
Walking into an ER feels like revisiting a nightmare—a place where my worst fears materialized, where I had to say goodbye to my beloved son, never to hold him again.
Today marks the five-month anniversary of the day I received that life-altering call from the sheriff—a moment that forever changed not just my life, but the lives of our entire family. The weight of Samson’s absence for Gabe has been hitting me harder than ever. He was not just Gabe's built-in best friend but also his constant companion, his only brother, his sole sibling... and now, gone.
The changing seasons only serve to highlight the void left by Samson's absence. During hockey season, our family dynamic meant Tom and I often found ourselves dividing and conquering, each taking charge of one of our boys. It was normal for us not to be all together at home during those months. But now, as spring blooms and summer approaches, it's painfully clear how inseparable they once were.
They spent endless hours together, creating bike jumps and forging trails through the wilderness. Their bond was a source of comfort to me; Samson's protective nature reassured me that they were always safe, armed with nothing but a fierce determination and a machete for trail-making. Watching them build treehouses, conquer makeshift jumps, and explore the world around them brought me immeasurable joy—they were truly living their best childhoods, free and unencumbered.
But now, everything has changed. I often find myself wishing we had more children, especially for Gabe's sake. Sadly, that wasn't in the cards for us. However, I am immensely grateful for the neighborhood kids who continue to brighten our lives. Their funny anecdotes and shared memories of Samson's fishing escapades bring both joy and a pang of sorrow. Though it hurts, I cherish these glimpses into the happiness Samson brought to others' lives. I know Gabe does too. Their presence has helped ease his pain.
On Saturday, Samson's friends—Tristan, Drew, Ella, and Ellie—came over, and the air was thick with stories, many of which involved their mischievous antics. It brought a smile to my face; I've always been the kind of mom who longed for the simplicity of the '90s, when kids could still be kids. So I let them roam and explore, not sweating the small stuff. Together, we experienced a whirlwind of emotions—laughter, tears, and everything in between. Spending time with them felt like drawing closer to Samson; I could almost picture his radiant smile, knowing we were all together, sharing memories of him.
At one point, they ventured up to Samson's room. When the girls returned, they remarked on how his room still carries his scent, a comforting reminder of his presence. Occasionally, I'll spray one of his many colognes in there, preserving the familiar fragrance that greeted me every morning as he prepared for school. His room has become a sacred space, a time capsule preserving the essence of who he was—a gentle soul who touched the lives of many.
Sweet Samson, your absence has left an irreplaceable void in our lives. We miss you dearly, and each day is a testament to the strength and courage we summon in your honor. You'll forever hold a special place in our hearts.
Love you endlessly, my precious baby.
