Today Michael and I went to the pediatrician's for his mission physical. He's almost 18, and barring a significant illness or injury (please no), I'm done there. He will go back on Friday for his TB test to be read, and again in about a month for a final vaccine, but I don't need to be there. And then that's it.
We first went to see Dr. K almost 20 years ago when we moved here, and frankly, I didn't ever even consider that one day we would "outgrow" our pediatrician. It never crossed my mind.
But last night I realized what it was. Because of Aaron, I had his cell phone number and his nurse held my hand and helped me with sooooo much in the way of prescriptions and paperwork.
And the relationship is over for all intents and purposes.
It's weird.
There was a medical student with him who had been in the PICU when we were up there. She was there when you left, and she remembered you. She reaffirmed how much you were loved there.
And I no longer see my friends, all the connections I made during all of those hospital stays. I'll see some, occasionally, in my role on the Family Advisory Council, but it's still different. And it's not the nurses, or respiratory therapists, the ones we spent so much time one-on-one with. There was never a chance to say goodby to them either.
It's getting quiet again here. I took Jonny, Avanlee and Elend to the airport to return to Saudi Arabia this morning, but Linnaea is up here right now. And of course there's Sophie and Simba. They really don't go in your room much anymore.
When we were in the hospital, I would be notified that there was movement in your room. Both of them, each time they got up, would go into the room and look at your bed, as if to see if you had come home. Do they miss you, too? I don't know.
The weather is so gloomy. I miss the sunshine. It's cold and kinda dark. And all I want to do is curl up and veg. But there's still things to be done. This is weird, and hard. I unpacked my hospital suitcase the week after you died, but this week that corner looked so empty all of a sudden.
I miss you kiddo, but I think I might be learning to live without you, somehow. It's not very graceful, or easy, or whatever. But I'm trying, day by day, breath by breath. Sometimes I do okay, sometimes not so much.
Underneath it all, you color everything, the joy and the sorrow. I never realized how the two could exist simultaneously, but they do. I ache for you, but I also am so grateful to have been given the privilege of knowing you, of caring for you, of loving you.
You made me a much better me than I ever could have been.
Love you, kiddo. I miss you.
"Every parting is a form of death - as every reunion is a type of heaven."
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