Moments, Snapshots, Memories

So many thoughts going through my head...

Facebook reminds me of past memories: good ones, hard ones, funny ones, tender ones. And it's almost like ripping that scab off again. You know when you were a kid and it would get a little itchy, and you knew it hurt when you pull on it, but you do anyway? The pain intensifies, but also reminds you that it's there?

Kinda like that...  

A year ago we learned (although we had suspected given his increasing infections) that the antibiotic we relied on to keep his trach infections at bay no longer worked. For eight years it kept the bacteria at a colony level; there but not causing problems. With multiple infections over the course of a year, well, it became obvious. In losing that, we lost a major weapon. He was already struggling and there were only three IV antibiotics that appeared to work. It was hard as we scrambled to find another one we could do at home, and also keep it from becoming ineffective. My soul was anxious and heavy at the time; now it just aches.

Eight years ago Aaron raised his Make-A-Wish star. At an evening dedicated to him, family and friends gathered. As he sat in his wheelchair in the front, Michael raised his star for him. It will always be there, hanging, although I don't know that I'll ever go back there again. 

Requesting a wish for him was bittersweet. It gave him a wonderful opportunity to have movies in an area he could access, and it also meant formally announcing that we expected him to die. 

14 years ago Aaron and Michael played together. Michael would look at his own baby pictures and ask me how I hid his tubes and wires, 'cause that's what babies have. And I put a feeding tube and oxygen cannula on Michael's baby doll. They looked like twins. Aaron had outgrown his central apnea spells, and obstructive apnea hadn't set in yet.

So many memories...

So much love...

And now, well, the love and the memories remain but are also tempered by the knowledge of what I have lost. 

I know I'll get him back again. I know he watches over us. I am so grateful for the resurrection and rejoice that I will hold him in his perfect body that will run to me and call me by name for the first time.

But right now, memories feel like a poor substitute for having him still here.

Miss you so much, Aaron. Love you even more.

"We do not remember days, we remember moments."

~Cesare Pavese