I Feel Lost

Dear Aaron,

I just don't even know right now...

I feel lost. 

I keep thinking about how 14 years ago tomorrow I went into labor with you, but you didn't show up until the day after.

I was so afraid, afraid you wouldn't make it.

And to be honest, afraid you would. 

I didn't know how to "do" special needs.

But it turns out, I actually did.

Love.

That's how you do it.

You love.

And I guess that's how I go forward right now, except mingled with that love is pain. 

It's very different than the pain of the c-section. I mean, that was bad, but there were pain killers and so on. There aren't any for this. I just have to feel it, to let it in, and let it out.

It's clean-up week at the cemetery. They leave things up for two weeks after Memorial Day, but then the next week anything that is not permanently attached is removed and discarded. I went on Saturday to make sure I didn't get distracted and forget on Sunday, so your decorations, your temporary stone, are all in the garage.

And your place looks bare, forlorn. I can't even put anything up for your birthday. 

So I guess we'll do what we do for everyone, and "celebrate" on the weekend. Friday night I'll put out the balloons I bought for you. 

You know, two years ago I had the distinct impression that it might be your last birthday with us. It wasn't, but it was the last time we got to celebrate with others. Last year you were in the PICU. You had been so critical just the week before that I simply cried because you were still here. Your nurses helped me get you into your wheelchair for birthday pictures, and gratitude filled me. 

Now this year, well, like I said, I just.  don't.  know.  how.

Love you so much, Aaron.

Miss you so much too. 

Love,
Mama

“Life is full of grief, to exactly the degree we allow ourselves to love other people.”

— Orson Scott Card