This article was originally published on October 14, 2008, in www.opentohope.com, a website whose mission is to help those who have suffered a loss to cope with their pain and invest in the future.
When the first Halloween arrived soon after our son’s death, I could hardly bear to think of it. Clint loved fall and Halloween. He took such joy in the season: football games, corn mazes, haunted houses and parties. It almost felt like a betrayal of sorts for me to hate the season now, but I couldn’t help it. In the beginning, everything about it brought me pain.
Originally posted on Debra’s memorial site: www.clint-reagan.memory-of.com
In the beginning, it mattered to me the hows and whys of Clint’s death. My heart and my head argued. My heart keep saying, “He can’t be gone, we still have so much love to give him.” In a strange unfair twist, this love was even greater because it was not hindered with all the stress and chaos involved with dealing with someone struggling with mental illness and drug addiction. This wasn’t fair. I became angry. I had done everything I thought was right. I had been a stay at home mom up until middle school. We were an intact family. Clint had experienced some privileges in his life. We were there for him every step of the way. We tried to handle what we knew and what we understood.