Two and a Half Years

Dear Aaron,

It seems so strange that it has been so long...

And yet, like yesterday.

Forever since I held you, and only moments since I ran my fingers through your hair, kissed your button nose, and walked out of the room . . .  leaving you behind.

I feel disoriented, confused, bereft, and yet full of love and grateful for you.

Your clematis bloomed this week, except it wasn't what it was supposed to be. I "bought" a white one, for innocence, except this one is not white. It's purple. Not what I wanted. Not what I expected. Not what I planned.

And maybe that's fitting. You were very much wanted and loved, but when we learned about your extra piece of love, well, that was not expected or planned or hoped for. And yet, you were exactly what I needed. You taught me so much, and I suspect still teach me. You changed me fundamentally.

And as Dad said, if the clematis is supposed to represent mischievousness and you, well, maybe it makes sense that the long-awaited first bloom was anything but what I thought it would be.

Your big kids continue to move forward: new babies, new jobs, new friends, new challenges. I love watching them grow. I remember your zest for life, and your love for adventure. I mean, I guess you're on one now anyway. I just don't get to check in with you on what's happening. 

I keep on going. I try to make you proud. I hope you're happy; I really do. 

You are amazing, my son. You are the gift I never knew I needed.

I pray you know this.

I do wonder how many people still think of you. I mean, I know I do multiple times a day. One of these days I'll tell you the story of losing and finding my stone heart. It sits in my pocket again, where it has been every day since you left except while it was missing. The finding was a miracle that I can't explain, and happened two days before your birthday.

I needed that, and I didn't even realize how much. Your birthday passed quietly, with only three members of the family outside your dad and siblings even remembering. But three reached out, and so did a coworker that I didn't even remember telling. I think that touched me all the more because of those who forgot. 

Or maybe they thought it would hurt me too much for them to say something, which is funny 'cause I certainly remembered. 

I don't know...

Missing you always, but especially today.

Love,
Mama

"We never bury the dead, son. Not really. We take them with us. It's the price of living."

~ Henry Parrish