*Sirens*

Sometimes I offer a snapshot of my day-to-day. Hell—my hour-to-hour or minute-to-minute. This is a snapshot of an ordinary day.

Monday, March 29. I was fine all day today. Coming off bizarro homecoming week last week, today was normal-ish. The students were good, classes went fine, drama was minimal. No. Big. Deal.

Then I drove home. The more I drove, the greater the dread. After months of practice, I can at least feel it coming on; I guess that’s progress. I don’t always know what “it” is, nor can I identify the catalyst. Still, I can feel the wave approaching — a change in my barometric pressure, an extra beat of my heart, a whooshing in my ears. Something is happening.

The day Cooper died, he drove to a rural cemetery, composed a note on his phone, called 911 to inform them of his intentions, and shot himself. I don’t know if he was still on the call when he pulled the trigger. I’ve wondered since August if first responders ran their sirens when they headed to the scene or if they already knew he was dead. I understand it’s pointless to wonder; no answer will change reality. If you think it’s pointless to wonder about sirens, get this: today I wondered for the first time if Cooper heard the sirens (if they existed). Talk about a question that serves no purpose other than to make me feel crazy! Mission accomplished.

I don’t know why I started thinking about sirens on my drive home, and I really don’t know why I wondered if he heard the sirens. It truly doesn’t matter, but these pointless wonderings bedevil me. This is just the most recent example of what goes on in this grieving, broken mind of mine.

I had a decent day at school. I left work in warm sunshine and drove toward home with an open sunroof. All good. Then somewhere south of the county line, I picked up an invisible, unwelcome passenger, an especially rude passenger who hopped right into my brain and assumed control. Rude.

I can’t explain, predict, or prevent these waves of anxiety and grief. My only option right now is to face them as they crash into me, allow them to wash over me, and hope I don’t drown.