Being Heard

The summer air is thick with moisture and heat. Night has fallen on another day and my body aches with sorrow and longing for Andrew. Last week I did so well. But since Friday, my mood has fallen and collapsed, risen a bit and then gone deep into sorrow again. Such is the nature of life right now for us. For me.

We received the deed for the cemetary plot. That wasn't so bad necessarily. It's more that it came on the same day we received the final findings of the investigation by DHS. Since we live in a world where some adults do awful, unspeakable things to children of all ages, our son's accident triggered certain cultural procedures that just brought additional difficulty to an already stressful and shocking time for us.

My husband, myself and our second oldest were interviewed by the police and DHS. It was awful and just added to the pain of Andrew's accident. Granted, for those that really do not take care of their children or think they have a right to hurt them and rob them of their innocence, I am grateful these services exist and can sometimes catch those people that should not be taking care of children or near them. While we are parents who do take care of our children and love them greatly, and knew that these two entities should not find anything of guilt with us, our concern was that there are times when you hear accounts of them finding guilt where there is none. So we walked through that additional scrutiny while we tried to stay strong for our children and for our precious little special who lay in the hospital and then tragically passed away.

The police closed the case weeks ago finding no crime. But DHS seems to take longer with their investigations. So upon receiving our separate reports, my husband and I both read through the them trying to understand their findings. It was not the most clear document we have ever read. And unfortunately, in some respects anyway, it documented every last little detail of what happened from our last night with Andrew through the exact time on Saturday when the DHS investigator was informed by the police that Andrew died to the medical findings showing it was an accidental death. I began to go numb and tear up as the wound was ripped open again.

At the conclusion of the report, we figured out they had found us innocent even though they couldn't really call it that. It's all strange to me and still unfathomable in some respects.

I turned the last page on my report and sighed that that awful account was over and the case concluded in our favor. And then my eyes fell onto another report adressed to Andrew, the victim. That just hit me between the eyes. My head dropped so that my gaze came down to my lap as my heart grew even heavier. They had sent me Andrew's report since I was his mother. Afresh I was reminded of what I can never forget. Andrew wasn't here anymore.

The rest of the day I was out of sorts. I did play with the boys a bit. But I was very emotional and very distracted. As the sun set, my dear husband sensed I needed some space and was willing to put the boys to bed so that I could go for a long walk. And I called some dear women that I am so grateful to be friends with. 

Both listened.
Both cared.
And I cried. I cried hard.
And both heard me.