And for the first time in 14 years, yours is whole.
Mine isn't, but yours is healed. What does it feel like to be free? To run and play and not be confined by a body that doesn't work the way people think it "should?"
Most years I've tried to post regularly, at least on Facebook if not here on your blog.
But this isn't most years.
It's going to get really quiet tomorrow. Jonny and Avanlee and Elend have been here since just a few days after you went Home. Tomorrow they leave to visit with her family and then they'll be back for three days and leave for Saudi Arabia.
It has been great having them here, having Elend here. He's so energetic and fun, and has so much life in him! My heart has needed this.
It's not quite as sharp, at least all the time now. But grief is weird. I can be okay, maybe even just fine. I can talk about you, laugh about you, and then something smacks me upside the head and I'm devastated again. So I try to roll with it. On Sunday I think I teared up a couple times, but overall was okay. But Monday... Well, Tuesday I went to work with swollen eyes. And then yesterday we got the notice that you had been unenrolled from the health insurance, but you "might be eligible for COBRA coverage; check with your employer." Um, don't think you need that. Don't think health insurance is a "thing" where you are. And that's good.
My brave warrior, you did what you needed to. Maybe part of my struggle right now is that two years ago, yesterday and today, were the first times you were so very critical, so close to leaving, and I remember telling you that you couldn't die in February. February is cold and dark and also when we first learned that you were coming with something "extra." And while I came to love and appreciate all the joy you brought with that extra love chromosome, at the time I wondered if I would ever feel hope again.
You know what's crazy? When things went down two years ago, you were in the PICU overflow and they quickly moved you into the center of the main unit, not sure if you could even tolerate the stress of the transition. In December, you were admitted into the main part but in the back and shortly transferred to the overflow. To the Very. Same. Room you had been in that time. When we moved in there in December, I quipped that it was a good thing you weren't actually critical 'cause I didn't want a repeat of the last time. Those are the only two times you've been in that specific room. And then when you were moved to the center of the unit, again, it was the same room too! It has made me wonder...
Every other time you've been sick, Every. Single. Time, I've told you you had to keep going, keep living, get better. I wasn't ready. This time I didn't even really think it was a thing, or maybe deep down I knew. Maybe that was it. My soul recognized that you were tired, and I was starting to do "to" you instead of "for" you. I had always promised you that when that time came, I would let you go. And I guess I did.
You ran your marathon, Aaron, and you even kept going beyond. I hope someday I can be half as brave and valiant as you.
Miss you, my son.
Love you even more.
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