My feelings are still raw.
I keep reliving this last weekend. The experts say that is a sign of PTSD. Reliving the traumatic event. Over and over again.
Beginning with Saturday. The day my son had his birthday party. I had a feeling of foreboding. I told him not to drink. And if he did, use moderation. Don't drive. He promised not to drink and drive.
Looking back, I realize he didn't promise to use moderation.
Sunday I woke up early and put the ribs in one crockpot, potatoes in another. Preparing for my son's birthday dinner. Sunday was his actual birthday. I rode my bike down to church. I stopped at the store on the way back home for paper plates and napkins. I was looking forward to dinner and family coming over. But my stomach felt queasy. Something did not feel right.
My son called me a couple of hours before dinner arrival time. He said not to be shocked by his black eye.
What?!
He told me he had attempted to break up a fight between two girls. My daughter suggested he come over early so she could put coverup on it so as not to upset his grandma.
The birthday dinner went well. The food was delicious. Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves. My son's black eye (actually purple), was alarming, but with the artful application of my daughter's cover-up, not so much.
After dinner we ate cake, sang Happy Birthday, visited. It was fun. But after everyone left, and the dishes were done, I sat down at the kitchen table. I wanted to cry. But I just sat there,feeling empty.
My daughter was painting. My son -in-law was trying to motivate us to go for a walk.
I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. Sinking like as in the Titanic type of sinking.
To be continued...
I keep reliving this last weekend. The experts say that is a sign of PTSD. Reliving the traumatic event. Over and over again.
Beginning with Saturday. The day my son had his birthday party. I had a feeling of foreboding. I told him not to drink. And if he did, use moderation. Don't drive. He promised not to drink and drive.
Looking back, I realize he didn't promise to use moderation.
Sunday I woke up early and put the ribs in one crockpot, potatoes in another. Preparing for my son's birthday dinner. Sunday was his actual birthday. I rode my bike down to church. I stopped at the store on the way back home for paper plates and napkins. I was looking forward to dinner and family coming over. But my stomach felt queasy. Something did not feel right.
My son called me a couple of hours before dinner arrival time. He said not to be shocked by his black eye.
What?!
He told me he had attempted to break up a fight between two girls. My daughter suggested he come over early so she could put coverup on it so as not to upset his grandma.
The birthday dinner went well. The food was delicious. Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves. My son's black eye (actually purple), was alarming, but with the artful application of my daughter's cover-up, not so much.
After dinner we ate cake, sang Happy Birthday, visited. It was fun. But after everyone left, and the dishes were done, I sat down at the kitchen table. I wanted to cry. But I just sat there,feeling empty.
My daughter was painting. My son -in-law was trying to motivate us to go for a walk.
I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. Sinking like as in the Titanic type of sinking.
To be continued...
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