As long as it takes…

On August 8, 2006, at 10:05 PM, my phone rang. The caller was a Sheriff’s Deputy informing me that my only grandson was en route to Duke Hospital with a gunshot wound to the head.

Shocked and angry, I began screaming at the caller asking, “Who are you; you’re a sick person.”  He called me by name and told me to calm down and to tell my husband and get to the hospital ASAP.  Finally, I had to accept what I was being told.

It seemed to take me forever to get to the bedroom where my husband was sleeping. This was surely a nightmare…I felt like I was in slow motion. My mind was screaming “Get up, get up, Adam has been shot, but in reality, no audible words were being spoken.  I felt myself slipping to the floor and I broke into gut-wrenching sobs.  

My husband jumped out of bed, picked me up, and asked if something had happened to my mother.  I looked up at him and as quickly as the sobs began, they stopped. In a monotone voice, I remember saying, “No, Adam, has been shot. My husband went into an immediate anger, terrified mode.  We quickly got into the car and went to the hospital.

We waited all night while the surgeons attempted to save his life. When they came out of surgery, they explained that Adam was breathing, but with life support, and regretfully he was brain dead.

Somewhere in the room, I saw my 16 year old granddaughter hugging a teddy bear, and sobbing so hard I wondered if her heart would burst. Her brother was her best friend. I saw my son sobbing, a brokenhearted father. Everyone else seemed to be either sobbing or sitting in utter shock, not able to cry nor to speak. The latter is where I was at that moment.

It was a dreary rainy day. After my son and Adam’s mother talked to the doctors they made the decision to take him off life support.  As they stood by his bedside, they watched their son take his last breath. A light came through the dark skies and went over his body and back up again. I believe it was God’s Angels taking him home.

We all got through visitation and the funeral, sometimes with tears, and at other times we were even able to laugh as we reminisced about the life of my only grandson, his father’s only son. 

It was not until after the funeral that the stark reality that my grandson had been murdered set in. God forgive me, but I felt pure hate for those involved in his death. I wanted them all to die like he had and feel our indescribable pain. (I have since been able to forgive them, hopefully the way Jesus forgave his murderers.) All of those involved in his death have been tried and given just punishment, but the fact remains that Adam is still dead.

So the question is how long I will grieve my grandson’s death. It’s been almost 6 years and still sometimes I see a truck like his, and I cry. I see a tall handsome blond young man, and I cry. I look at the picture album of our trip to Disney World when he was 5 and through the tears, I smile. I think of his funny self, and with tears in my eyes, I smile. I think of the times he called me just to talk, and saying “Hey granny, what’s up?”  Then he would tell me about his day, good or bad, but always before we ended the call, he would say, “Granny, I love you.” And with tears welling up in my eyes, I smile.

I think of his son, who was six months old the day we buried his father. I look at him now and I think of his dad because he looks so much like him and my heart bursts with pride, still I cry.

I remember a part of my son’s impact statement to the Court…”On October 3, 1985, his mother and I watched our son take his first breath…the happiest day of my life.  Then on August 9, 2006,  his mother and I, heartbroken, watched our son, Adam, take his last breath...the worst day of my life”, and I cry.

It’s been almost 6 years since we had to say good-bye to him. People ask me how long I can grieve my loss and I answer, “As long as it takes.”

II have a loving, caring Father in Heaven who understands and walks with me through all of my life trials.  To me, grief is not all about crying painful tears, sometimes the tears are happy tears; it’s not all about not being able to move forward, it’s about love.  It’s about remembering the happy times as well as the painful times. It’s about longing to hear “Granny, I love you” one more time. Yes, my joy and my grief of having and losing my grandson will last as long as it takes.