Missing our Future Memories

Dear Aaron,

It hit me (again?) today while driving home that there are no new memories to make with you. I mean, it makes sense (as much as anything about you being gone makes sense). But today, somehow, it was more definitive, more "real" I guess.

It was a long day, a challenging day and I didn't head home until almost an hour and a half after I had expected to. And as I thought about your pictures, I was struck again with how there are no new ones to be had. Ever.

Yesterday was also challenging, but in a different way. Yesterday I took my licensing exam. 

And I passed!! 

Honestly, I don't remember being more nervous about a test in I don't know when. Like ever, maybe. But I did it, and now there's just paperwork to get my "L".  That doesn't seem quite real either. 

So in the morning, I was trying to stay busy and found myself up in your closet, the one with all your clothes and toys and blankets. It is well past time to remove batteries from those that have them, but I hadn't been able to do that before. I brought the toys downstairs and wrestled them out.

And then I got to Scout, still wearing the socks you wore to the hospital that final time, the ones I took off and put on him so we wouldn't lose them.

I couldn't do it. 

I just couldn't.

Instead, I pushed the buttons and listened again to "5, 10, 15 minutes of lullabies." To "My favorite color is red. Is that your favorite, too?" 

"I'm feeling sad. Will you give me a hug?" I did. 

And "I love you, Aaron!" 

Scout talked and sang so many, many, many times over the years. In fact, you wore one out and we buried it with you. In the hospital, at home, during the night when I was trying to sleep but you insisted on playing. 

And I just couldn't silence him. On Tuesday, I picked up your butterflies at the cemetery. As I did so, I walked around to the back and read the inscription again. "But there is a resurrection, therefore the grave hath no victory and the sting of death is swallowed up in Christ. Beloved son of William and Rebekah. Youngest brother of Deborah, Mary, David, Jonathan, Matthew, Joseph, Andrew and Michael."  

Oh my son, my little boy. I will see you again. I will hold you again. But until that day, my heart aches. I miss you. Somehow, I'm learning to live without you in this world, but it hurts. You are so loved.

You are love.

You are most definitely compatible with joy.

And I miss the memories we cannot make. 

I love you.

Love, 
Mama

Recalling days of sadness, memories haunt me.
Recalling days of happiness, I haunt my memories.

~Robert Brault

Hummingbirds and Mother's Day

Dear Aaron,

The hummingbirds are back.

I thought I heard one earlier today when I was working in the yard, but didn't see it. Now I'm sitting on the patio, finishing reviewing for my test on Wednesday, and they (or it?) keep showing up. I'm not good enough to tell if it's the same one, or multiple. But they're back, and it feels good. 

The weather is just the right amount of warm. Gramma's roses are beginning to bloom, and I'm hopeful that some of your flowers will come up soon. The sun is going down, but still well above the horizon. The dappled light comes through the trees that are beyond the bud stage, but still have the new spring green color, not fully developed yet. 

I hear the crickets chirping and Sophie is laying by my bare feet. A bird just flew through the yard. The fresh-cut grass smells of summer. 

And tomorrow is Mother's Day. 

Last year, I wasn't here, I was in Arizona with Gramma and Grampa, and the day after, I called the ambulance for Gramma. This year, she's with you in heaven. 

It's my first Mother's Day without my mother, and my first one here at home without you. Last year I avoided it; a new place, different focus. But I'm grateful I was with Gramma, so grateful. I think I took her for granted all those years. I mean, I never knew life without her. She was a constant presence, even if we weren't together.  I figured she always would be.

Like you, I see her in so many things: the wind wheel outside my office window, the blanket on my bed, the fleece shawl I keep in the car that she made with "I Love You" embroidered in the same color so really only I know it's there. And the bracelet she gave me a year ago that was supposed to be about you and now signifies her as well. 

I miss you. I miss her. Two significant pieces of my heart are missing. 

I'm so grateful for my family. All but you and Matthew and Michael will be here tomorrow, and I'm sure the two of them will call. It will be loud and chaotic and crazy. Eleven adults and four small children create that, and it will be beautiful. 

But still...

Oh Aaron.

My last one, my forever baby, the one I meant to take care of for as long as I could imagine.

And I guess in a way, I still do. I carry you with me; your memory, your love, your inspiration.

Is the hummingbird that keeps coming back your way of saying "hi"?  I hope I make you both proud.

Sending you all my love...

Love, 
Mama

Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without words,
and never stops at all.

- Emily Dickinson 

Jonah Day

Butterfly release

Dear Aaron,

It's been a Jonah Day. 

I mean, I guess not really, but still...   You could call it a comedy of errors but I'm frustrated and not laughing. 

Maybe the universe needed to get some balance back.

Yesterday was pretty amazing! I woke up a little early and had lots of energy. Before I even left for work I weeded your (small) garden and planted a bunch of seedlings, and hoped for rain. And it did! I did two loads of laundry and got to work on time feeling like I had already put in a full day but still with the energy to keep going! Like I said, it was a good day!!

This morning, I woke up at 4 am with a headache, and when the alarm went off I was sound asleep again. And then my glasses were nowhere to be found. Apparently I fell asleep with them on and they fell down the top of the bed. I had to find an old pair to put on to even see them! I had no energy, but still needed to get going.

Primary's Memorial Program 2024

I couldn't find my earbuds which I needed for a Teams call today. I went through my backpack twice. (They're supposed to be in a small bag inside there with other electronic supports, nope.) So I left the house early thinking I must have left them in the Pleasant Grove office yesterday. Drove there, nothing. Drove to Saratoga Springs and emptied my backpack a third time. They were there all along, in the wrong small bag.

BUT I was missing my tappers which I wanted for a later session, and I had also offered to another therapist. Those are big and I knew they'd been on my desk in PG. So I sent a colleague a message and asked her to look on my desk so at least I knew where they were. Nope, not there. When I got home, guess what was on the floor where they'd fallen out. 

Sigh...

And did I mention, no energy? Zip? Nada? I made salads for dinner (which is super easy) but I told Daddy that he had no idea how close he came to scrambled eggs instead. Those would have been fine, but I wanted (needed) the veggies instead. 

And tonight I've been trying to study for my test. I'm super stressed about it. Going through flashcards, I wonder if I even went to school for this stuff. 

Like I said, woe is me, Jonah day. 

But like Alexander in the "Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day," some days are just like that. 

My guess is sometimes you felt that way too, and somehow you kept going.  

Missing you, kiddo. The rain has been good. It watered the grass (the sprinklers are currently not functioning) and cleaned off your headstone. The moisture will help the flowers to grow. Gramma's rose bush has more new buds on it. Your place in the cemetery is greening up.

Life is moving forward, and that's a good thing. 

But still, I miss you. I miss who I was with you. I feel pulled in two opposite directions, forward with the movement of time, and stuck on December 23rd, 2023, still trying to figure out how your heart stopped and mine did not. 

This is weird. 

Love,
Mama 

“Grief is a courtship with death” 

- Jane Edberg

Lend Me Your Strength, Please...

Are you in the stars I see in the night?

Dear Aaron,

My soul hurts. I am weary. This is hard!

Today a few different people, including a caregiver and unit secretary asked how I was doing, and I answered honestly, "I'm okay, most of the time I'm okay, but sometimes I'm not." And it's true! 

But tonight seems to be a "sometime." 

I went to the ward picnic tonight and fought to stay as long as I did. Oh, everyone was great, nice, talkative. Linnaea had a great time and Barrett was so cute. The food was fabulous. And I just felt so alone anyway. 

I miss you so much.

Tomorrow, the Sunday before Mother's Day, is Bereaved Mother's Day. And I don't even want to get out of bed.

How has it been 71 weeks without you, and yet if I hold still and close my eyes, I can almost feel your hand in mine, your soft hair under my fingers, smell your skin. But when I open my eyes, it's all gone, vanished away. 

You were the strongest person I ever met.

Will you please lend me some of that strength?

Love,
Mama

“A broken heart bleeds tears."

Steve Maraboli 

Missing You

Dear Aaron,

I'm feeling meloncholy.

And lost.

And.... I don't know.

So many activities crammed into this weekend, which could not have happened if you were here. I'm grateful I could participate, and yet I wish you were still here.

Friday your Joseph graduated from SUU. Saturday was Sterling's first birthday party and after we went to your cousin's endowment. And my mind went back to yours. As I sat in the celestial room, I saw rainbows on the floor, the biggest one shook gently. A few months ago a friend gave me a prism with "Look for me in rainbows." And so I do. 

I feel like I'm leaving you behind, and yet I don't at the same time. 

Some of my memories fade, but I carry you with me. I wear your trach beads on my watch band, the bracelet that Gramma gave me a year ago. The butterfly on my car, the beaded angel on the rearview mirror. 

I work in a field you brought me to and I'm taking my final licensing exam in two weeks. You brought me to this, and now you're gone. 

Today I volunteer at a memorial for children who joined you in 2024. I did this in 2021 and 2022. Last year our family went. And now I go to help other families in this awful horrible club that no one ever wanted to be part of.

And yet, it holds some of the most beautiful, strongest people I've ever known, strong because that was the only choice we were ever given. 

Love you, my kiddo. 

Love,
Mama

"The life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living."

Cicero

He Is Risen

Dear Aaron,

He is risen.

You are not, yet.

The Tomb is empty; your grave is not.

But I have faith that it will be. 

And so will Gramma's.

And so many others.

I honestly don't remember a lot about Easter last year. I remember sitting in the front room, the room that holds many mementos and even more memories, watching the sunrise while snow fell. But not much beyond that. 

This year is warmer (also later) and somewhat quieter in my soul.

At least for the moment.

I planted flowers in your garden yesterday (and I'm super sore today). It was hard work, trying to rip out the stubborn grass, dig holes deep enough. But I also kept thinking of you and everything you endured and figured I could handle it. 

I planted a Gold Medal rose bush for Gramma, and a Henri V clematis for you. Yellow roses were her favorite, and clematis stands for ingenuity and mischief; two characteristics that seem to fit you. The flowers are white symbolizing purity, faith, new beginnings and love. Now I just hope they do well.

There aren't pansies in there because they won't withstand the summer heat, but there will be marigolds, alyssum, and forget-me-nots around your stone. There are sweet peas and snapdragons. And hopefully petunias. A variety of colors and scents; a beautiful garden to remind us of your beautiful soul.

Your last Easter morning here, 2023. You were
so happy to be at church!

This sun is rising. Time for sunrise in Alpine is said to be 6:41 am, but it doesn't seem to take into account how close we are to the very high mountains on the east. And so it seems to take a long time to see the sun. Those mountains comfort me, protect me, help me feel safe, but they also hold back the sun. 

The sun will come up; it is coming up. It's just taking time. 

And so will this. 

Time for my soul to find peace, and time for grief to wash over me, again, and again, and again. 

I will not stop missing you until I hold you again, and yet I also find joy and comfort in this life. 

Happy Easter, Aaron. Happy Easter, Mama.

He is Risen, and someday you both will rise as well.

Love,
Mama

Easter Sunrise 2025

"The very first Easter taught us this: that life never ends and love never dies."

- Kate McGahan

Dreams...

Dear Aaron,

I'm struggling.

This is hard.

It hurts.

And I don't know quite why today feels so different than other recent days. 

Maybe it's the unmet expectations I have for myself. I look around and there's so much I want to get done... And then I sit. Or like today, I get stuck in traffic, both going and coming! Guess I need to be grateful I was the one stuck behind the wrecks and not part of them.

And I'm anxious, too. I finished my hours to be able to take my licensing exam and registered for that on Monday. I'm simultaneously excited and terrified, but it's coming, four weeks from today.

And you brought me here. Somehow I feel like you should be here celebrating with me. 

Are you? 

Is Gramma?

I dreamed of her the other night. She was so young and vibrant. Her hair was so dark, her skin clear and bright. She was sitting on a bed playing with and taking care of some small children, but I didn't really notice them. I was distraught, upset, and told her this was too much, too hard, and I was so tired of doing everything.

And gently she replied, "I know, honey. I know." 

Oh, I wish you could take pictures of dreams. I want to hold onto that image. It was so clear, so real. 

And once I woke, so gone.

I miss you two so much.

Love you even more.

Love,
Mama 

“I think we dream so we don’t have to be apart for so long.
If we’re in each other’s dreams, we can be together all the time.”

- A. A. Milne