September

Dear Aaron,

We're a week into September; fall is almost here.

The sun has already set and it's only 7:30. 

Nights are cooler.

Cold weather isn't here yet, but I can feel it coming.

This week was hard! 

Memories keep popping up, juxtaposed against each other. 

First day of preschool in 2013, and then a few days later going to the SOFT picnic and ending up in the PICU. 

Your Make a Wish Star Raising in 2016. 

Realizing in September of 2018 that it had been a year since our last 911 call, and that continued into November! 

Matthew coming home from his mission in 2018, laughing and joking with everyone, until he knelt next to you. And then the tears flowed. He left, each of your siblings left, not knowing if you would be here when they got back. And yet, they went because they knew how important it is to share the good news with others. You almost weren't here when Andrew came home. Twice I called the mission office to tell them the doctors didn't think you would pull through, but you did. 

And now Michael has been gone a year, but you've been gone almost two. He went by to see you before he left, and we won't see you when he comes home, but I suspect you'll be there.

And then, somehow, with all the memories of you and the highs and lows of Septembers, memories of Gramma were mixed in there, too. 

I keep remembering the tracings on your heart monitor as your heart slowed and then stopped, and the call almost a year later from Auntie T telling me what was going on in Arizona. How the only option was to intubate Gramma and put her on a vent, but the doctor didn't think she would be able to come off. How I understood academically that a ventilator lets the body rest so it can recover, but my gut said that wouldn't happen. And then he started talking about how that would mean a trach and a long-term nursing facility, and Auntie T said she knew I'd done that with you but .... And I interrupted her. "No, not for Mama, not for her." And that's where Tricia was going too. 

You loved your life, and the vent was a necessary component. You loved playing with the tubes too! But Gramma had for years made her wishes known and she wouldn't have wanted that. So we said goodby. I told her to find you and hold you until I could get there. 

And oh, it hurts, it hurts so much.

Your cousin Lauren got married yesterday and we siblings were all together for the first time since Gramma's funeral. Grampa wasn't able to come because he's struggling, and it was weird to be together, and not have them there.  

It's still weird to not have you here. 

Aunt Maurie send one of the sprays of roses home with me last night and Aunt Liz and I put it on your grave. It's the first time in a long time that I've had flowers to put there, and they're beautiful.

I don't do well with the cold and the dark and winter. It feels lonely and sad. Both you and Gramma struggled so much more those last few months, and then just when the world was at its darkest, you left. 

I sit on the patio and the hummingbirds fly back and forth. They drink voraciously at the feeders and the flowers. They work to gain the weight they need for their migration south, which will begin so soon. The world is shutting down. Soon the frost will come and take the flowers in your garden. The hummingbirds will be gone, and I will stop sitting outside until the weather warms again. 

Hunkering down, trying to keep going.

Missing you . . . always.

89 weeks . . . 

Love,
Mama

"I used to love September, but now it just rhymes with remember."

-Dominic Riccitello