Thursday Morning Deep Thoughts

When I first told people about Prince’s death, many people were speechless. For the last few weeks, I have felt as if I am managing other people’s grief in addition to my own.  If I can survive the murder of my son, I think I might just be that strong woman so many people have tried to label me in the last year.  I don’t feel strong, however, because I don’t feel like a whole person anymore without Prince.

A good friend of mine came to visit me this past weekend.  I was telling her how strange I have been feeling lately.  I feel like its been a year since I have seen my baby.  I struggle to remember the tone of his cry.  I also feel this overwhelming sense that Prince was not just a baby.  He was here for a reason and he knew it.  I feel like he wasn’t mine to have forever.   My friend said, “CQ…I wasn’t going to say anything, but now that you said something…I think Prince has been here before.”  At first, I wasn’t sure what she was talking about, but then she explained that he never looked like just a baby.  Prince was always a wise soul.  While he was still largely non verbal, that little man knew how to communicate and he wanted to make sure we all knew how much he loved us.

So maybe Prince picked me to be his Mama, but our story hasn’t ended yet.  I want desperately to escape his psychopath father.  I want to remember my son without thinking about his disordered father.  My son, however, still hasn’t gotten justice and until that happens…I cannot let it go.

Interesting things happen when you experience tragedy.  Friends you never knew were close come out of the woodwork and come through like rock stars.  On the other hand, people tend to show you their ability (or inability) to care.  A few months before my son died, I met a man.  While I had decided not to date him, we became friends (or so I thought).  Initially after this experience, he appeared to have the emotional capacity of a normal person.  It has been two weeks since my son died, however, and this man believes that I should have “snapped out of it” by now.  His behavior scares me as it feels as if he is no longer trying to help, but that he is attempting to take advantage of my pain.

So let me end this post by saying to him:  (and if he is reading this he will know I am talking about him)

Lose my number.  I don’t want to go dancing with you now – nor ever.  You clearly don’t have the emotional capacity to understand how much losing a child changes a person and hurts them to their core.  Given this inability to understand, you are exactly the same type of person I so desperately want to run away from.  While I am hopeful that there are men out there who have the ability to care and love in the depths that I do, you Sir are not one of those and this experience has proven that to me.

 

And Ladies – don’t settle for men who don’t treat you right.  Don’t make excuses for their poor behavior.  Good women deserve to have good men.  I refuse to disrespect Prince’s memory by allowing his death to become a red carpet moment for another souless creature to move into my heart.  I love you son.  I will remember you always and I will continue to pray for justice on your behalf.

3 Comments

  1. Hilary on November 8, 2012 at 9:37 pm

    I am sorry that your doctor responded to you with such callousness. I’ve learned that interacting with the medical professionals can be an additional horror after what we’ve experienced. I’m glad your doctor was at least able to get you some pharmaceutical help. Mine prescribed what amounted to placebos, and a doctor friend of mine who practices in another state explained that the clinic doctor from whom I so desperately sought relief most likely mistook me for a strung-out, drug-seeking, junky. I had to laugh, because I WAS strung out and I WAS seeking drugs–I was pretty clear about that! I was desperate. It’s such a shame that those who take an oath to do no harm sometimes do exactly that when we are the most vulnerable.
    It’s uplifting to read of the inspiration you’re taking from your son, and the strength you’ve shown in separating yourself from a man who is not showing you the compassion you need and deserve in what I’m sure are the most horrifying days of your life. Some otherwise kind and caring individuals do not know how to handle the trauma of others because it makes them so uncomfortable. We can pity them, but we don’t need to bring them any closer.
    Thanks again for your words, and I hope the writing helps you to heal, as well. All warm wishes during these cold days…

  2. Christine on November 10, 2012 at 4:36 am

    That guy is a first class jerk. I hope you never hear from him again.

    I think I understand what you mean when you say Prince was not just a baby, that he was here for a reason and he knew it. I had a nephew like that. I always used to wonder about him. He was so unique, and wise and he just had a quality about him that I never saw in a child. Sadly he died when he was only 20 years old and after his death my sister (his mama) told me that she always thought of him as an “old soul” and that somehow she “knew” he wasn’t supposed to be here long. It’s an expression I’d never heard until then and I never knew my sister felt that way about him. It’s like he was here for a only a brief period of time for a reason that none of us understood, but he may have. I don’t know… when you were describing your precious boy it just brought back memories of my nephew. Hope you don’t mind me sharing that.

  3. Ella on November 14, 2012 at 10:54 pm

    This is the saddest thing I have read for a long time. Congratulations on standing up for your son and telling the world – so brilliantly – what happened. My prayers are with you and your beautiful Prince. May you be strong and recover from this tragedy. All my love.

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