Hope, and Who I Am

Dear Aaron,

It's been a few days...

That doesn't mean I haven't thought of you, not at all. In fact, Tuesday morning after a parent meeting for a client, Mom asked me how you were doing. Sigh....

I mean, I guess the truth is that you're doing just fine! Really. Me on other hand...

Well, I think of you all the time. 

On Tuesday morning when she asked, Tuesday evening when I picked up your things at the cemetery, and again when someone challenged us to think of our identity, our intrinsic identity, not just all the hats we wear. I guess you don't actually define me, and neither does our relationship, but all the same, you are definitely part of me. You changed me, for the better, but change hurts, and so does this.  

And Wednesday morning when I discovered that the mound above you was a bit too high and the lawn mower scalped the grass, which meant I made a trip to city hall (I truly love that I live in a small town) and talked to a friend who is also over the cemetery about it. She'll get it taken care of. I need your place to be beautiful, peaceful, and the idea that it will be a dirt patch that gets muddy just guts me all over again. While I was there, I saw a former neighbor who lost her own boy almost six years ago. 

And I thought of you when Facebook memories came up, and when I went by tonight, and frankly, pretty much all the moments in between.

But on the way home, I was listening to music and Hope by Paul Cardall came on. Honestly, his piano music plays almost constantly as it brings me so much comfort. But underneath the music, so faintly that at first I thought I was imagining it, I heard a child's laughter.  A Child. Laughter.  Hope.  And through my tears, I smiled. And cried and smiled. 

You used to laugh so much. I wish I had recorded your laughter but I don't think I did. Like so many moments, I simply enjoyed them because I thought there would be so many more. I was wrong. You really never did laugh again, not much, after February 2022. But in the song, I could hear it, hear you, and it touched my soul to know that you do now laugh. And run. And dance. And sing. And play. And I hope, oh I hope, you bend close and put your arms around me, even though I can't feel them. 

Michael did senior pictures yesterday with cousin Rachel. It really was a lot of fun, and they'll be our last senior pictures (like so many other lasts). Michael always wears an A around his neck for you, and I thought briefly about asking if he wanted to bring it out, let it be seen, but decided not to. I mean, these are his, about him, not about you.  

But then after taking several, he pulled it out. He positioned it in front of his tie, over his shirt, kept it on when we did track pictures. It's there, you're there. You are so, so important to him. And it made my heart smile. 

Your influence goes on. In the hearts of so many, you live on. 

Yesterday as I drove to Provo, I noticed the sun shining on the still snowy peaks, lighting the light blue sky with cotton-candy colored wispy clouds. This world is such a beautiful place. You, my son, are such a beautiful part of it, even if I can't see you anymore. 

I miss you so much. 

I love you so much.

Love,
Mama

The reason it hurts so much to separate is
because our souls are connected.

~Nicholas Sparks