One month later

Who would ever have thought that I would be sitting here one day, breaking my heart over Viking death metal music?

Not me.

This time thing feels bizarrely like when they were all babies.
As in: do I say he's a month old at four weeks, or when the date rolls around again?

Do I say it was a month since he died on Monday of this week, when it had been exactly four weeks? Or tonight, the 25th of the month, when...impossibly, horribly, it has been a month since our beautiful son ended his life? It feels darkly, badly the same.

The pain is so deep and so raw, I feel like my sternum might crack in two.

I hate so much that he is gone. I hate it with every fiber of my soul.
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Music was a bridge that Michael and I crossed, to try and find each other.

He shared lyrics from a metal song he liked, to show me that it wasn't all just gutteral screaming and profanity. "Mom, read this. It's poetry. It's about how he feels about his wife and his children." He told me that many metal musicians are actually classically trained. He went out of his way to find music I would like. For an out of town trip with Lee and I one time, Michael offered to cover the music. We laughed. "We know your music."

"No," he insisted, "I know music that you will like." And he did. He put together a play list that we both absolutely loved. It was such a fun day. How I wish I had written down that list.

He told me about folk metal, and symphonic metal and played them for me. I found it hilarious that there is heavy metal music that incorporates a polka beat on accordion, and that there is a metal song all about coffee. I got him an Amon Amarth concert DVD that he wanted, and watched it with him. All of a sudden, I got it. "This is how Vikings would sing, if they were around today!" He grinned. "Exactly." ...He shared a new genre with me last year- thrash grass; a fusion of thrash metal and bluegrass. I really liked the song he sent to me, so I said, "I should listen to more of their music." "No Mom," he said, "just this song." I appreciated his protecting me like that. When he was walking a tough road, he listened to the music of James Blunt, which was heartbreaking, but beautiful. He introduced me to the music of Rodrigo y Gabriela, and gave me two of their CDs, which I love. This became my favorite travel music, for just driving and thinking my thoughts. I told him several times how much I liked it. I had thought that someday we might go to one of their concerts together.

But no.

Instead, I am deliberating over the right music for a slideshow at his memorial service. 

It would seem right to actually play his favorite music, but I've been reading the lyrics, and they're so full of despair and death that I just can't do it. I mean, it's death metal. That is what it's about.

He would definitely laugh at the idea of his mom playing Amon Amarth in church, but I just don't think I'll go there, for several good reasons.

On the other hand, I have vowed that there will be no soppy tear-jerker heartbreak songs for this slideshow. We are all crying enough tears already, and our hearts are broken enough.

I'm searching for the right balance that will represent Michael and fit his life, but not tear us all to pieces. No John Lennon singing about his son, thank you very much. Definitely no "gone too soon" songs.

As I write this, I am listening to Rodrigo y Gabriela, and thinking that maybe this is just right. It's music he liked, that he shared with me, and it's not depressing or maudlin.

I feel about this like I did about writing his obituary. It is a hideous necessity, and absolutely surreal, but also something I want to do in the best way possible, to honor the life of our precious Michael.

So, one month later, this is how we are doing. How I am doing.

No matter how shattered you are by pain, life grabs you relentlessly by the face and forces you to do "normal" things- cook and eat, work, do laundry, talk to people, sleep, wake up, make decisions, run errands, handle practical details.

So we do. We shove the howling pain of loss into a big mental closet and gently close the door, then we go to the bank, to deposit Michael's paycheck, and the refund check from the deposit on his apartment, and call his phone company, and talk about how the death certificates will be here soon, which will enable us to deal with the cable company and to move forward with the life insurance company. And then we go buy carrots and broccoli, and get the alignment on the pickup checked.

It's like so much of life.

You just have to....so you do.

Somehow, impossibly, and truly by the grace of God, we do.