December.
It's December.
The last month you knew here, earthside of heaven.
Nine days from now will be the last time you woke up here. The last time I called an ambulance. The last time I signed out a nurse here. The last time for so many things...
We spent Thanksgiving in Arizona this year. Gramma and Grampa are doing better, but that's a relative statement. I hadn't realized how much Gramma's stroke and then later septic shock had worn on her. I just saw her in May. I didn't know...
It was a good weekend, actually a really good one. Everyone except you and Michael were there from our part of the family, and almost everyone else was there, too.
I'm sitting here listening to Music and the Spoken Word and he's talking about candles, about how their light is small, but their influence can grow. They light other candles, other light spreads, so tiny and yet so powerful. I think that's you.
This season is so fraught with high emotions for me. I love Christmas, the lights in the darkening world, the smells, the warmth from the cold, family, love. And yet, you left me.
And the world felt (and sometimes feels) so dark again.
I miss you, Aaron. I want to remember, I'm afraid of forgetting. I cherish the memories that come on Facebook because I have already forgotten so many things, the little day to day challenges and triumphs. I remember the big ones, but the little interactions that were just part of life with you make up the essence of what is gone.
Please be close as we count down these last days.
Please...
Love,
Mama
"It's better to light a candle, than curse the darkness."
