It's been a week and a day since your heart stopped, and mine kept beating.
I look at your bed with Scout in it and your toys still hanging, and sometimes I can almost see you, especially in the dusk of night, or early morning light. But it's still too quiet.
It feels like a strange no-man's land. We're in this break between holidays where there's no school and I was already planning to be off work. But work starts again Wednesday, and school the following Monday and I suspect things may hit hard again. We had our routine. This dance of you and me, Michael, the dogs, getting ready in the morning that was almost a waltz as we moved through the things that needed to happen.
And now the music has changed. The steps have changed. I don't know this new dance, and I suspect I won't like it much.
Yesterday was your funeral. Honestly, I can't remember much of what I said. But Michael gave a beautiful life sketch and no one who was there will ever quite look at pie in the same way again. Matthew gave beautiful voice to what I hope were your thoughts, and Daddy taught powerfully. It was painful and healing at the same time.
Saying my final goodby and closing the casket on your earthly body was excruciating. I stroked your soft hair over and over in the hour before that time came, studied your face, trying to memorize the curl of your lashes, the tiny bump on your nose, the smirk that seemed to be hiding in the corner of your lips.
And then we had to close the lid. I won't see you again in this life, except in my dreams.
I miss you.
Thank you for sharing this slide show. It really captured too much love.
ReplyDeleteOnce we'd actually met, I knew that I would walk all of this journey with you. I'll admit, I thought the order would be different, but then, I think we all did. Not that I wanted it that way. I have always wanted them here and healthy, whatever that looked like.
ReplyDeleteI do not know how my heart did not implode from the pain as Lily's casket was closed. It is the most vivid pain I have ever known. I saw it on your face as you walked into the chapel following Aaron. My heart should have exploded a second time from your pain, identical to my own. I cried for the rest of the service, even when William asked us to smile. I tasted my tears as I did. I felt Lily next to me as William asked us to sign I LOVE YOU. I seldom feel her outside of the temple; she'll come to me when I need, but she sends the impression she is busy with so much work to do. She was called to me then as we used her language to share Aaron's love for you.
As it happens, the ILY handshape is the foundation of Lily's sign name. In Deaf culture, sign names are given by a Deaf person, usually one significant in that person's life. The name chosen is usually reflectivr of a trait that person has. Early in our time together, Lily's Deaf mentor gave Lily her sign name in part because Lily radiated love. The mentoring services last a maximum of three years. At the end of our last session, she gave me my sign name, the sign of a flower blooming chosen because the thing that most defines me is the loving effort I give to help my little flowers bloom.
The same is true of you, my dear friend. With all that you are, you have loved your son and allowed him to shine.