It’s Been 3 Years Since I’ve played Badminton AND I Put Cheese On All the Burgers Now

There’s so much we haven’t done since you left. It just hurts too much. Some things I want to keep preserved and pristine in my memory– just between you and me.

I don’t drive in the car alone without crying. I still haven’t mastered the art of driving in the car, listening to music and NOT crying. It’s routine and I like the time alone, talking out loud to my Nick. First, I feel the lump bubble up in my throat, followed by tears rolling down my face. Waterproof eyeliner and mascara have been my best friends for the past three years.

Staring at the grill when I’m about to put the cheese on the burgers (cheddar for everyone and of course goat cheese for PJ) (Oh, and by-the-way, Trader Joe’s now has these incredible triple meat burgers with brisket and that’s what we all love now), I no longer leave two burgers plain with no cheese for you. I stare at the patties all covered with cheese and still feel like I have made a mistake.

And the badminton set has not been set up for the second summer. I remember the last few days before you left for the University of Illinois. My back was hurting and after we had played three or four matches. I said I couldn’t play any more. You said, “Come on mom, one more, your boy is going to be gone soon and you will miss playing with me.” I know at that point, you did not mean or know you were going to take your life. You naively thought you had beaten the disease of suicide. However, Bev Cobain, Kurt’s cousin who was a psychiatric nurse and was suicidal herself, explains in her book, Dying to Be Free: A Healing Guide for Families After a Suicide, the battle within, and wanting to stay alive despite the tunnel of suicide ideation and its pull.

Even though there are a lot of things we DON’T do anymore, they have been replaced by some pretty amazing things we do DO now.

First off, our faith has never been stronger. We lean on it more than ever. With Delaney leading the charge, we soon learned that the only strength that could guide and sustain us through the devastating loss was the strength we get from Him. Without leaning on Him for comfort on the darkest of days, I’m not sure we could have not only survived, but have such meaningful purpose in our days in wanting to help others.

And we are grateful. We begin each day with our gratitudes, because despite such a terrible loss, we have so many blessings in our lives.

We also find such pleasure in the simplest of things.  Drinking our coffees on our beautiful patio, surrounded by the most lovely flowers and our dogs, is where you will most often find Pete and me. A peaceful walk around the lake, a good home-cooked meal and a meaningful chat with a friend are what marks a day well spent. 

Our compassion for others and their silent struggles has also grown. When I’m out in public and see surly people being rude, I used to get annoyed. Now I really see the world through such a different lens. I wonder if that person may be struggling and perhaps needs to talk to someone. I try to provide a big smile, a thank you, a silent prayer and a wish for a peaceful day. Not a good day, but a peaceful day. A struggling mind needs rest. 

We also have the greatest desire to help others, learn more about suicide and raise funds to help many meaningful programs and research that are being developed. There is so much more to learn and so many incredible people doing great works, and we want to support them as much as possible through our work with the NJF.

So, a lot has changed in the three years without you, Nick, but one thing has stayed the same–every single place I go, I pass a sweet memory of you. Showing houses in Elk Grove and there it is– a field where you pitched in a little league game. Heading into work always seeing Egg Harbor Cafe, and all I can think about are the countless lunches on days off from school with you, PJ and Delaney.  Driving to get a haircut, I passed the Schaumburg Convention Center. I remember vividly dropping you off for Sneaker Con in seventh grade with a stack of Nike boxes holding your beloved Jordans, and a whole lot of confidence and joy–when suicide wasn’t anything we ever thought about. Except on the rare occasion when we heard about someone in the community, or a relative of someone who died that way.

As a compassionate and loving person, my heart always ached for the person who died and all of the family members and friends who loved them, never imagining that SUICIDE would enter our lives when you, my brilliant, handsome, sports-loving, funny as f*&k, full of promise and kindness, Nicholas Joseph died that way. Now it's a word I can’t escape and I know intimately the havoc it wreaks on those left behind. I’ve learned more than I thought I would ever know on the topic, but so much more research is needed, too.

Recently we watched Happy Gilmore 2 as a family and thought about how much you would have loved it and wondered how many times you watched the original, and we debated which Adam Sandler movie was your favorite. As we all sat snuggled up on the couch laughing, I felt your sweet presence with us and looked at your siblings and smiled. I know you are cheering us on as we navigate three years without you. You are guiding us as we try to help others and put an end to the stigma of suicide and support others dealing with mental health struggles.

We love you beyond measure Nick and know we will be together again. Oh the rapture of that meeting, oh the joy to see you come.