‘I will never understand why’

By Beth McBride 

“Bobby was killed and is dead.”

The first line of my journal entry on March 11, 2023 and a sad, sad goodbye to my life as I knew it. From the moment I received the devastating phone call in the dead of the night, my life was changed. 

A friend of mine who lost her son told me: “There is a weird blessing in all this. You get to start your life over. Anyway you want and no one will question you.” 

I thought I get to be a better me. 

Whenever I question what I am doing, I remind myself, I don’t have to continue to do things the way I always have. I don’t have to worry if someone will be mad at me or look down on my decision. It no longer matters. I don’t care what other people think.

For months, it took everything to breathe. Get out of bed. Not end my own life. I did not give two shits what anyone else thought. 

The old me was disappearing. A reevaluation of faith, friendships, family, a job, and well everything. Even today, I struggle with my place of residence. 

My faith — Once, a friend told me that I “live in the grace,” meaning since I was confident in my salvation, I did whatever I wanted knowing I was forgiven.

When I lost Bobby, one big change occurred in my faith. I survive only because I believe God created Bobby to live on this earth for just 21 years. I believe God took my son home on the day He ordained it to happen. And, I believe because of this, it was God’s will that I will never understand why. Jesus has become everything to me. 

My friends — Most of my friends have fallen by the wayside. Either because they don’t know what to say or priorities have changed. Since Bobby was killed, I have no patience for drunk driving. Life is no fun at all. I am just not ready to enter back into a social life.

My job — I quit my job after 17 years. There was no way I was going to go back to my same life. Pretend like my life wasn’t turned upside down. Imagine that my son wasn’t struck at a high rate of speed and died of the result of multiple blunt force trauma injuries as the fucking death certificate states. I needed something different.

My family — My family is everything including my ex-husband. Prior to Bobby dying, I did not always make my family the highest priority. At times, my job or friends would come first. Now, my family is my foundation. I am blessed to be from a large Irish Catholic family. I will never take that for granted again. 

My place of residence — I hate driving past the place my son laid in the street all broken and dead with a tarp over him. I hate that on the night he died, people drove by and instantly posted on social media. Winter is coming. Maybe I can snowbird a little. God willing. 

My purpose — I read in one of the dozen books on grief that was given to me that 30% of all mothers that have a child die due to a traumatic death never  recover. There is the possibility I will remain on this earth for 20,30, 40 years in the same depressed, sad, mourning period I am now. No fucking way! I am finding a purpose in the loss. Making life better and safer for others is the most helpful way out of my chronic grief. Another way I have channeled my grief is by starting a nonprofit with my daughter to raise awareness about drunk driving. 

My fight — My mission and passion is to save lives. To prevent another parent, sibling or friend from feeling the pain my family and I have felt and continue to feel, and to change laws to prevent a preventable tragedy. This fight is the driving force that gets me out of bed and stops grief from swallowing me whole. This fight gives me a purposeful life that I never imagined.

I am thankful that Bobby died instantly. I am grateful I have a wonderful support group. I am looking forward to one day being happy again. As the new Beth emerges, with a shimmering of the old one, I choose not to be bitter but always better. A renaissance is reawakening me.