Today is a day that a year ago I could not envision. One year ago my beautiful, intelligent, compassionate, and wickedly funny son Kristofer died in a New York City subway station. A year ago, I could not imagine that I would still be on this earth, reflecting the past year. The night Kris died, I wanted to die too. My fellow survivors on the Alliance of Hope (AOH) forum were a God-send to me. I found this site a few weeks after Kris left.
Those early days seem so long ago. I remember days, weeks, months, when I literally sat in a chair and stared out the window for hours and hours. I barely spoke with family and completely shut out friends for months. I endlessly replayed my final words with Kris and his final moments. My eyes watched the clock every night, for months, as I ticked off the final hours and minutes of his life that I had meticulously reconstructed via texts, calls and police surveillance video. I knew right down to the minute the moment he died, 10:47pm.
For months, I played detective trying to uncover every text, call, social media post and awaited toxicology reports, desperately trying to explain the inexplicable--why did Kris do this? In the end, it was a mix of heavy alcohol consumption, a brain altered by adderall addiction, and a history of depression, as well as "opportunity at the wrong time" that took Kris. Despite the fact that all signs pointed to a young man who was on the right path with a bright future in front of him, his life met a tragic end. The answer as to "why" is complicated and will never be fully explained.
I have not posted on AOH for months because the unexpected happened. Something I thought would, could, never happen. I began moving forward. Of course, Kris is on my mind and I miss him every single day, but he no longer occupies the forefront of it every moment like he used to. For those of you early on in this horrific journey, I know it is hard to imagine, but you too will move forward. I remember reading posts from people much further on than I. They wrote about moving forward and getting on with life and I remember thinking that they must not have loved their child/spouse/sibling as much as I did Kris. If they did, how could they possibly move forward with life without them? I could not imagine life without Kris. I did not want to live without Kris. I often prayed to die. I thought that people who moved forward with life were heartless and "obviously" unaffected by the loss of their loved one. Clearly, I was wrong.