Ian's death was a hard thing for me to handle. Being the first 'true' death I had ever experienced, I wasn't exactly sure on how to handle it. I was 12 years old, a 6th grader. I can remember December 17, 2003 as if it were yesterday. I can tell you anything and everything about that night. I can tell you what lights were on, how the house smelled, and even how the furniture was arranged. I remember sitting on the cold couch next to my sister and brother and being told the news, "Ian Moise died today." Immediately images of premature infants raced through my head. I could imagine the NICU with babies all hooked up to monitors and medication. I couldn't understand it. Ian was healthy. There was nothing wrong with him, I had just seen him the day before! How could a perfectly healthy baby die? It didn't make sense to me.
That day, and the days following, was extremely traumatic for me. I was in pure denial, I didn't understand. I remember walking up the aisle at the visitation and seeing a small casket. A casket that held a precious 6 and a half month old baby in it. A person whom I considered MY family. I thought this was just a nightmare. There was no way he could be in that casket. It was a lie, someone was playing a really nasty joke on me, I just knew it. The funeral changed it all for me. I was still in pure denial. This really wasn't happening. I sat there not knowing what to do or say, whether to cry or laugh, just not knowing what to do. When the funeral concluded, the casket holding Ian was rolled down the aisle and I saw his parents stand up and follow the casket. I watched their reaction and they had lost it. I couldn't help but start crying. This really was happening. This is the last time I would see Ian here on earth where he belonged. This was the last time I was going to see the casket. Denial.
At the gravesite, I remember someone talking for a while, but I just sat there the whole time staring at the casket. My heart was shattering. I still didn't understand why this had to happen. Everyone was given a blue flower. The flower to me was like the last true remembrance I would have of Ian. As I held the flower in my hand, I just stared at the casket. I wanted to open it, I knew he really couldn't be in there. How was I suppose to know he was actually in there? But, I had to trust myself. I knew he was in there. After a singing of "Silent Night," we walked to our car and that was it. It was over. Done. Finished. Complete. As we drove around, I glanced back and saw the grave workers lowering the casket into the ground. It really happened. Ian did die. I just couldn't handle it.
When I started therapy back in June of 2011, I realized that I started showing signs of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder a few months following Ian's death. I started having stomach problems and I started developing anxiety. I contributed the anxiety to things that I was nervous to do in school such as take tests. It never occurred to me until therapy that my anxiety problems were because of Ian's death. I showed signs of PTSD for the next 7 and a half years before seeking help. Every death following Ian's would retrigger me and my PTSD would get worse and worse. It really hurts to know that I have truly struggled with PTSD for 7 and a half years before getting diagnosed, although it wasn't until the seven deaths that followed Ian's where I felt as if I was going down a slope.
Ian's death.... traumatizing. There is no other way I can put it. Although I am sharing a lot of very personal information on this blog, I will not share all my experiences with Ian's death. Everything that I went through those days were extremely hard. There were too many emotions in those days, too many things happening, for me to be able to write about. I am sharing the bare minimum. Maybe in time I will share more information about my experiences, but for now, this is it.
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