2024 Ends

Dear Aaron,

I don't think I liked 2024 very much. The first year that didn't know you. The year I struggled with grief to an extent I simply couldn't imagine beforehand. I still can't figure out how you're gone! 

And Mama too...

I've never known a world without her, and my whole world was so wrapped up in you for so long. It's been almost 15 years since we discovered you were going to be "different" and even more impactful, not likely to be here long. 

I don't want to go into 2025, and yet, I do. I hope it's somehow easier. Can it be? 2024 was so hard... 

I find both you and Mom in so many things. I wear the bracelet she gave me in memory of you daily. When I go to the grocery store (way too often) I twist the bag handles together the way she taught me, the way Nana taught her and I'm reminded. I remember her every time I do my nails or put on lipstick. 

Your butterfly is on my car and your angel hangs from my rearview mirror. Other mementos are in my home office and clink every time I open the cupboard doors. I bought Q-tips yesterday. The last time I bought them was a year ago while you were in the hospital. At the same time, I bought two Christmas shirts because I finally admitted you probably wouldn't be home before Christmas and I wanted some festive clothes. I think of you every time I put one on.  

I finished the probiotics we used to give you. I actually finished them a few months ago, but the empty box with the syringe is still in the cupboard. Somehow I haven't thrown it away. I still have a saline bullet, one, in the pocket of a blazer I wear from time to time, and wore for Gramma's services. I take it out, hold it, smile through tears, and put it back. 

We did candy cane sleds tonight, Aaron. We did them last year the day you left us. That morning Daddy asked me what we were going to do about them and I told him we needed to do them, we needed the laughter and joy they'd bring, and they did, both then and tonight. Watching Linnaea and Elend, Stirling and Barrett brings so much joy and comfort, and yet the pain is there, too.  

I read an article regarding caregivers today. It focused on family caring for those with dementia, but I found myself relating to much of what was said regarding caregiver fatigue. I did have support in caring for you, but it was still, in the end, me. I was the expert; I knew you and I knew your medical complexities. It was hard, so hard, and beyond exhausting. I know I was blessed with strength beyond my own. And now that you're not here, my body has struggled. I find myself exhausted mentally and physically still, a year later. 

December brings such a dichotomy of emotions. You died on the 23rd and your funeral was the 30th (My last post said the 29th, I was wrong. That was your viewing.) You were buried on January 2nd. Mom died on the 11th and her funeral and burial was the 21st. But the 21st is also Mary's birthday, our anniversary is the 22nd and Christmas is the 25th. Joy, celebration and rejoicing; sorrow, pain, anger and anguish. 

So I think I'm glad to leave 2024 behind, but I don't know what to think of 2025. 

I hope it might be more gentle? I'm tired of being strong.

Love,
Mama

"Time is the fire in which we burn."

~Delmore Schwartz