Ten Months; Hard Things

Dear Aaron,

Ten months ago, almost to the minute, I kissed you good night, tucked you in (sorta, you were running a fever again) and told you I loved you.

You had listened and even responded to Daddy when I called him and held the phone to your ear while he told you he loved you.

Neither of us dreamed that the end was so near...

Baby, I miss you so much!!

Saturday I went upstairs thinking I ought to take the batteries out of your various toys. I don't want them to leak battery acid and ruin them. I turned on Scout and listened to him say, "Hi, Aaron!" and then quickly turned him off. But in moving a couple things, I bumped your musical hedgehog and it started playing music. That melody has haunted me since. I have been closer to tears, and cried, more frequently since Saturday than I have in a long time. And the batteries are still where they were. 

I feel stuck.

Or torn in two.

Part of me moves forward. I mean, time moves on, the seasons change, and there is growth. There are a lot of things I can now do that I couldn't before; a freedom that frankly I didn't (and don't) want.

And part of me is still stuck in the PICU room at midnight on December 23rd, watching your heart rate slow, the wave pattern turn sluggish and shallow, your breathing cease. 

A year ago today I wrote about my frustration at being in the hospital. Part of me wishes I'd known what 2024 would bring. A bigger part is glad I had no idea. And every bit of me is grateful for the care you received there; not just the medical care, but the personal love and concern that was shown to you. 

You touched hearts and lives of those who knew you there as well as in other settings. You were more than just a job to them. You made them smile, inspired many to search for possible treatments, taught them that life could be really good, even when it was hard.

And I guess that needs to be my take away, too. 

I never could have imagined how hard this would be, but it is still good, even when it rips at my soul.

I can do hard things. I kinda have to. And I had an incredible example and teacher in you.

I miss you.

I love you.

Love,
Mama

“So it’s true when all is said and done, grief is the price we pay for love."

E.A. Bucchianeri