6 Months, Half the Year, and Another Angel

Leaving without you six months ago

Dear Aaron,

It's been six months since you left. 

Six months with no alarms, feedings, medications, hospital stays or doctor visits. 

Six months where I can't see you, see your smile.

How are you? Are you loving heaven?

Were you there when Lucy danced through heaven's gates Friday night? Did her face light up when she saw all her friends? Did you all pause and miss us down here? 

You know, Lucy was my step back into the PICU. I went to see her and her mom a few months ago when they were there. And now, almost exactly six months after you left, she did too.  I'm shattered, but I know it's nothing like Melinda is feeling. I feel helpless, and again, I know it can't compare to her pain. When our children leave us, children that we have poured not only our heart and soul into ('cause we do that with all our kids) but whose welfare consumes our every waking and sleeping moment, it leaves a gigantic black hole that seems to suck everything else inside. 

I don't actually remember not knowing Melinda and Lucy. I mean, I know there was a time because Lucy is younger than you, but still... It seems we were always friends. Maybe because you and Lucy have been friends since before time? Help her find her way around, okay? And both of you be close to us, too, please?

Last night I finger painted a scene that's been on my mind for a long, long time. I actually worked through it in my last training session 'cause you know since we have to practice and we only have each other, we each get to play the part of client as well as therapist. 

So many, many, many times we needed help transporting so we called an ambulance. Most of the time you were relatively stable, except I never did figure out how to bag you as well as drive. But a few times, you weren't, and we went lights and sirens. One time, I remember seeing those lights revolving off the jersey barriers on the freeway as we sped through the dark night, racing to get you to a higher level of care than I or the paramedics could provide. That was one of the few times I was also scared. It settled in me and it got to where the last few months, I couldn't hear sirens without breaking down. Thanks to an amazing therapist and hard work, that hasn't been a problem the past couple weeks, and yes, it's summer, I'm hearing them.  

So last night, I painted the final image. It's the lights through the window but superimposed are the words, "I am enough." 

And I am.

So are you.

We have to be.

Six months, and so many more to go...

Love,
Mama

“Grief is the price we pay for love. Every mother dreads that cost.”  

Sarah Sands