Forever: A Lobster Kind Of Love (5 page)

When six a.m. hit, I woke and felt ready to start my day. I’d actually slept through the night. I looked at the disheveled blankets and realized I had been restless in bed. I’d had no nightmares for the first time in months, and I was grateful.

I knew I needed to come up with a game plan.

Shower, pack up, checkout, and find a coffee shop. I needed my fix. I only had two vices, iced coffee, and cigarettes. I’d quit smoking for almost two years, then the accident happened, and I’d started it up again. I wanted to quit, but not right now. It was the only thing keeping me sane and from chewing my fingers off.

I felt pretty accomplished as I completed my tasks. I hadn’t taken a Xanax yet. I wondered if I should take one before I hit the road, or wait until the shortness of breath, anxiety, and panic started in.

As I headed toward the bathroom to shower, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I had lost so much weight. My stomach was flat, but the scar from my C-section served as a constant reminder.

I felt like I was withering away, one day at a time.

Deep breaths
.

I finished up my shower quickly, wrapped a towel around my body, and another in a turban twist around my head. I peeped in the mirror again and saw the dark circles rimming my eyes. They’d appeared about four months ago and became more permanent by the day.

I did not wear makeup. Why should I? I had no one to impress. My hair was devoid of luster, red hair with no shine. My stylist, Jami, would have my head on a spit if she could see me now.

Getting myself dressed in my comfy road trip clothes, I pulled my still damp hair up into a ponytail and I was ready to conquer this drive. Once I grabbed some coffee, I wouldn’t have to stop, except to pee, so I should get to Eastport by dinnertime, assuming that traffic was not an issue.

Double-checking that I had everything out of my motel room, I loaded up the car, shut the door behind me, and dropped the key at the front desk. I had my duffle bag ready, and I reached for the tote bag. I packed the urn in the tote, keeping it close to me. I put together a memorial necklace with letter charms for each of them, and a little bit of each of their ashes inside the locket.

My Boys
was engraved around the edge. I clutched it like a lifeline; I always had a piece of them with me.

Let’s get this drive over with.

It was almost 9:00 am as I pulled onto I-95 North, but I knew I’d miss all the rush hour traffic, despite it being a Thursday workday. I just wanted to get settled into my new place and relax.

As I lit up another cigarette, I realized I really needed to quit smoking. Stress had made me pick up the nasty habit again and driving long distances there was nothing better to do but smoke and sing along with the radio.

I pulled over at a rest area for a break. I stretched, used the facilities, and refilled my coffee.

When I left Nazareth yesterday, I’d felt a huge weight lift off my chest. With each passing mile, I could breathe a little easier. I had pretty much cut everyone off after the funeral, except my friends Tonya and Jill. The only time I left the house was for work and grocery shopping. I didn’t visit anyone.

I stopped answering my doorbell because I just didn’t want to deal with whoever was behind it. If it happened to be Tonya or Jill, well they both had keys to my house. I thanked God for them; they are my blessings. They didn’t judge me and we were family by choice. To be honest, if it weren’t for them, I would probably be in heaven with Braxton and Mason by now.

I had attended grief counseling weekly for almost four months. My doctor had suggested a support group, telling me it would be good for me, help me connect with others.

Ironically, I felt no connection with anyone in that group. I really tried, but no one could understand my loss, my nightmares, or my heartache. Most of the people in the group got to hold their loved ones until they passed away or were elderly widows. A few attendees were friends and family members of those who had terminal illnesses with long death sentences. They had time, they were old, or at a minimum, they’d had warnings. There were no deceased children grieving groups, none that I was able to locate in Nazareth. No one should ever have to bury his or her child.

I’d had none of that. My husband had been a healthy man in his thirties and my son was barely out of diapers. I gave my husband and son a kiss goodbye that morning and told them I loved them, as was the norm. I’d had no idea it would be our last moment together. They were supposed to be home waiting for me when I got home from work.

It was two days after Christmas and three hours into my shift at my client’s home, when my cell phone rang with an unknown number. That phone call would change my life; the phone call from the State Trooper that opened the door to the hell I have been living.

The State Trooper asked if I was Mason’s wife and Braxton’s mother then proceeded to explain that my presence was needed at the hospital. They sent a patrol car to retrieve and escort me to the hospital. I was dumbfounded. I didn’t know what to do. So, I called my agency and told them to send another nurse because I had a family emergency.

When the patrol car picked me up, the Trooper had sad eyes. I knew it was something bad. He just said, “There has been an accident and we need to get you to the hospital as soon as possible.” The fifteen-minute ride felt like hours.

They led me to a room where my husband’s aunt and uncle were waiting for me. I’m not sure why they were called and were there before I was.

I sat between them and they each held one of my hands as the State Trooper proceeded to explain the accident to me. I had no idea what was happening. I felt numb. I had what could be explained as an out of body experience.

There honestly is no other way to describe how I felt. Shock? Definitely.

The medical examiner then took me to the viewing station to identify the bodies of my son and my husband.

Oh my God, I had to stop thinking!

I switched playlists and cranked up the music. I had to stop thinking of the past and focus on the road. I wanted to lose track of time and not get lost in my own head. I had been driving for a while now and, at some point, had entered the town of Waterville, Maine.

I needed stop to relieve myself; the intervals between towns was farther and farther now that I was in Maine. If I didn’t stop soon, my bladder felt as though it would explode.

I should have thought of some adult diapers or a catheter; it would have come in handy for this little road trip. Then, I wouldn’t have to stop. I still needed gas, caffeine, and smokes though, so I pulled into the next truck stop. I couldn’t believe I’d smoked half a pack of cigarettes already.

I got out my car and stretched at the pump; my back creaked and crackled as I twisted. I headed inside to prepay for my fuel and immediately found the facilities. The bathrooms were far from clean. They smelled awful. This was definitely going to be a hovering expedition because I was afraid of any body part touching any surface in this place without contracting some communicable disease.

It almost felt pointless to wash my hands in the sink. When I left the bathroom, I spotted the coffee station…and a clean sink. It was well equipped with lots of little International flavored creamers.

Jackpot!

I also spotted two truckers mixing their caffeinated treats, and a knot formed in my stomach. Only part I hated about these fuel stops was seeing all the truckers. It made me think of the drunken murderer that had stolen my loves from me. I knew, consciously, that not all truckers were drunks or murderers, but I couldn’t help that knot from forming nonetheless.

Picking up fresh coffee, a new pack of smokes, and a salty pretzel in hand, I was ready to fuel up the tank and finish of the rest of this drive.

I took a leg off my pretzel and shoved a good portion in my mouth. Grabbing my phone, I quickly texted Tonya to let her know my whereabouts and that I only had a few hours to go. She would never let me get too far off the grid and run away. Hell, I couldn’t even sleep in on a day off without one of them bugging out. I knew they loved me though and were prone to worry, but I was the same way with them.

I knew she was at work, so I made it quick, so she wouldn’t get in trouble. Her manager in her little medical billing office was a dick. She billed chiropractors and physical therapy care for crying out loud. Her manager had issues. She quickly replied that it was about time I’d notified her; she was starting to think I had been hijacked and sold into sex trade in Canada. I argued that it’s not likely to happen with the way I looked. After an ugly laugh-snort, I set my phone down and was back on the road.

The afternoon continued and I still had some driving to do. I wanted to get into Eastport by dinnertime. According to my GPS, I had another three and a half hours of driving ahead of me, without considering any traffic.

Somehow, I didn’t think traffic was going to be an issue, since I only recalled having passed five cars in the last hour or so. This was the boring part of the trip, and I wished I had a co-pilot.

I needed someone to talk to. I talked to myself enough as it was, but it would have to do. It caused me to miss Mason.

I actually felt a little more alert after my pit stop. It was amazing what a stretch, an iced coffee, and a pretzel could do for someone. During times like these, I could use one of those GoCams hooked up to the dash. I would be able to stream it live on YouTube and label it
Lydia finally lost it on the way to Maine.

Keeping my foot on the pedal, I carried on with my own private Karaoke session. There was absolutely no one on the roads, so it was just me singing along with the music blaring. I sang along with one of the recent radio hits and was I loud and proud. It had been keeping me in a good mood and I hadn’t taken a Xanax since this morning. Music therapy seemed to be working. Maybe this
was
the beginning of a fresh start. It made me think of one of those quote boards gifs I saw on my Instagram feed the other day.

Sometimes the best thing you can do is not think, not wonder, not imagine, and not obsess. Just breathe and have faith that everything will work out for the best.

I was definitely trying, I’d give myself that much.

This was a never-ending drive, but the scenery was gorgeous. Even the air smelled different. The trees lining the highway were so green and tall, and I could actually breathe better as I puffed on my cigarette.

Mason hated that I smoked and was happy when I quit. I quit when I found out I was pregnant with Braxton.

How I wished I could hold them both again. I started thinking back to when Mason and I first met. We were only 23 years old, and I was out at a local bar with the girls. Mason was there with his obnoxious friends. I spotted him across the bar. You couldn’t miss him, even with the ruckus his friends were making.

Mason had been a 6’4” beast of a man with strawberry blonde hair, blue eyes, and built like a brick house. When his eyes connected with mine, I knew, I knew right then and there I would have that man. I had never had that connection with anyone before, and I doubted I ever would again.

The bartender sat my frozen margarita in front of me, and Mason trotted up behind me and whispered, “Well, what do we have here?” He then proceeded to lick the salt off the rim of my glass, winked at me, and returned to my ear and breathed, “I’m ready for my shot of you.”

Sex on legs
!

With barely two sentences, before I even knew his name, Mason had my panties wet and my heart in his hands. My love, how I missed him.

I slammed on my brakes!
FUCK!
I’d gotten lost in my head again and almost hit a damn moose! How long had I checked out for that time?

Standing before me without a care in the world was a great big moose.

Those suckers are huge!

They were like Clydesdale horses, except they had trees growing out their heads. I wasn’t dreaming and a few cars had pulled up behind me. Apparently, the tone of some car horns resembled the moose’s mating calls, and you ran the risk of them charging, so we had to sit and wait until he was good and ready to cross the road.