The week that was supposed to end Conley and my summer started with dread. I woke Tuesday morning, realizing the gravity that Conley was going to be interviewed by the sheriff's department and have to again relive the traumatic story. My head was spinning: how many times will he have to retell this story, why this sweet boy, how can I possibly keep him safe? We drove back to Hardin and the whole time he was trying to crack jokes! Yes, this is how a 10 yr old copes with uncomfortable feelings laughing at human gas. We spent 5 hours that day in Hardin talking to the investigator, the crime victims advocate, the CPS worker (who had just found out about the shooting, 5 days afterward, and beginning her initial assessment). By this point our attorney was involved and we were working on a way to keep Conley safe, as no child should have to take care of his Dad who was in shock from a gunshot. All Conley could provide that day was a vivid description of yelling and screaming resulting in a gunshot wound. I should say at the very least, I was candidly assertive with our CPS worker, who could see in her record history multiple prior complaints. We left for home completely exhausted.
After that day, I was ready to move forward! We needed to school shop and try to do something fun. Interestingly, Conley refused to leave the house and just wanted to be away from people. Through the week, he started to be more open, and we were able to swim at the neighbors and he had a sleep over...you know, average kid activities. By Friday, he was able to start counseling. Our counselor explained that there are about 72 hours after a trauma occurs that the brains memory is pliable. What this means, is what ever story was told for Conley to report becomes his long term memory and he would have to work and heal to reveal what he really saw that day.
I was feeling really confident in how we approached the hurdles of the week. Listening to Alexa music, making dinner, Conley playing with his action figures at the island; life was good. I pause as I see my former mother-in-law calling. Okay, I admit I selfishly didn't answer as I was finally in a good headspace. She then texts and my heart sank. I run to the bathroom so Conley can't hear our conversation and call her back. "Janna, he died."
There are no words for the heaviness of this comment. Conley's Dad had been recovering for a week in the hospital and on the day of his release, he was not able to go to his earthly home. Our conversation was brief, she explained they suspected a blood clot and we cried over how to tell Conley. I instantly called Rob, who said, send him to our neighbor until I'm able to gain my composure. I called K_____ and she immediately agreed to take him. I walked out and told him the neighbors need to visit with him and to go...I would call him when dinner is ready. As he closed the door, I physically feel my heart break and catatonically collapse to the floor.
How do we live in a world in which he no longer exists? God, this can't be happening. How can I possibly tell my little boy that his Dad died earlier in the day? The gut wrenching anguish that I experience most likely paled in comparison to what his family must be feeling. As a mom, I'd never wish this on another Mom.
God places people in our life who know what to say or do, even when they aren't aware of their perfect timing. My neighbor, knowing something was dreadfully wrong, refused to let Conley come back until she had a chance to come and hold/comfort me. My dear sweet friend stayed with me until Rob was able to get home from work. At this point, Conley came home and my heart ached as we knew we had to deliver the worst possible sentence of his life.
The sound of a child's heart breaking is worse than feeling it yourself. His wail filled the void in our home and we held each other and let him scream and cry for what felt like an hour. We had no answers to his questions of how, when, or
why. All we could do as parents, was to be in that space with him, letting him know he was safe to express whatever feeling he needed.
We went to bed that night, "I want my Dad." Tears. God please hold us in your comforting arms.
Photo: Curtesy of Conley's grandmother during the last summer he would have with his Dad.
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