Don't Tell Me...

Dear Aaron,

I'm angry. 

I keep hearing the things people said. 

Things people still sometimes say.

And while I know they mean well, they. Just. Don't. Think!

"Are you excited to travel now that you don't have to care for him?" (Two weeks after the funeral.) NO!

"It's so good to see you finally getting back to yourself. I can see you feel better." (A month after you died). Um, no, I just wear the mask better, the mask I will wear the rest of my life. Grief makes people so uncomfortable.

"I could never be as strong as you. I guess God knew I wasn't strong enough to lose a child." Oh, it's not like I had a choice. And it damn near broke me. In fact, it actually did. I underwent cardiac testing six months after you left due to symptoms I'd had since you died. But I couldn't summon the energy to go in before then. Broken heart syndrome, takotsubo cardiomyopathy, is a real thing.

Don't tell me ,"he's in a better place."

Don't tell me, "You got to keep him much longer than you thought you would."  I know that, but I want you here. Now. Still. I worked so hard, loved so much, gave up almost everything to keep you alive. And you loved your life. Your life here. And you were loved so much! 

Don't tell me that "I know how you feel. We had to put our precious dog down a few months ago and I loved him just like a child." WHAT?? (Yes, someone actually said that.) I know people love their dogs, but honestly, every single person should realize they will outlive their dog. And it's a dog! Not flesh of their flesh, bone of their bone. They bought it; they didn't give birth to it. 

Halloween 2023
Aaron-dalorian,
showing me "The Way" 

Don't tell me "I only have so many ________ (fill in the blank with whatever event) with my children" 'cause you know, not really. You may only have so many with them in a certain age range, but really?? Are you planning to disown or bury them? Because I only got 14 Halloweens, 13 Christmases, 13 birthdays with you. And I get No. More. NONE! And I guess if they're worried about missing them in person, well, I missed three with your siblings, some of them very young, as we fought to keep you alive. 

So if someone wants to say those things, go ahead. Just not to a parent who has buried a child.

Your last Halloween, we draped your costume over you for a quick pic because you were so sick, fevering so high, so precarious, that we didn't dare put it actually on you. And Halloween is on the doorstep again, only five weeks away. 

Oh, Aaron, I miss you! The weather cools. Nights are officially longer than the days now. The leaves change and fall. And I relive over and over those last few months of your life. 

So many days and nights in the hospital. So many fevers, blood transfusions, close calls (that I didn't realize were quite as critical as they really were). 

It's been 92 weeks tonight. I went to sleep thinking it was just another night. We were on the right path. It was taking longer than I wanted but you would be okay.

And in the grand scheme of things, you did go home. You are okay, more than okay, but I'm still not. 

They say that anger is a secondary emotion; something else always comes first. 

Did you know that a broken heart actually hurts physically? 

Tonight I just want you back.

And I can't have you. 

Tonight I'm drowning.

I miss you.

Love, 
Mama

“I sat with my anger long enough until she told me her real name was grief.”

C.S. Lewis