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| Utah SOFT picnic 2019 |
I went to the Trisomy picnic last night, first time since the pandemic I made it.
You know, we tried to go the last two years but you had other plans. Both in 2022 and 2023 we spent picnic time in the ER. In 2022, (I think) we actually went home that night. 2023, not so much... That time we were there for a few days.
So the last time was in 2019. I'm finding there were several memories made in 2019 that were not possible later. We went to the picnic, like we had so many times. You were in church, and went to concerts and sports events. That was the first (and last) year you participated in the Primary program. You came to my choir concert. Lots of things I took for granted, assumed we would just keep doing. And then the pandemic. And now you're gone.
But last night...
Well, last night was good even though you weren't there.
As I was driving up, I noticed that the sky was kinda smoky, and the wind was really whipping. And I just kinda went, "huh". In the past, I would have been on high alert. I actually would have known before we even left, and your breathing treatments would be stepped up.
This time, it really barely registered until I was there and trying to keep wisps of hair out of my face. And honestly, I missed worrying about you. You were such an integral, intimate part of everything I did, every thought I had, every preparation I made.
I got to see fellow trisomy kiddos: Ashton was there, now 25 but still as petite as ever. Simon (19) on the other hand has really grown! He is so big! Lunah (almost 9) with her big eyes and oh so soft curls, and then Lennie (19 months) who I finally got to meet at last.
And friends. Dr. Carey who took us under his wing so early on and championed you. Friends who have been walking with me since we got your diagnosis. Friends whose own little ones are playing with you. Friends who just get it.
I remember when I went to school at BYU how freeing it felt. I loved New Jersey and my friends there, but it was different. My core beliefs, who I fundamentally was, was very different from most of them and I often felt lost or left out or misunderstood. Not for lack of trying or empathy, they did and so did I. Our life experiences defined us in many ways, and they were different.
Last night felt like coming home and being embraced. These women are so many years ahead of me. Their babies long gone, but still, just yesterday. We never forget our children; we can't. And yet they have perspective I haven't gotten to. I was known and heard and understood in ways that others simply can't comprehend. I was seen.
Did you feel that way when you reached heaven?
Was it so freeing? To be free to run and play and express yourself and be understood?
Aaron, I miss you so much. It is so quiet here! But I know you want me to be okay (whatever that means).
The refiner's fire burns so hot, and sometimes (often) it consumes me. I know there is work to be done. I'm not "there" yet. So much purifying is left to be accomplished. I know that it's needed, but I don't think we often talk about what it takes to get there, the pain that come with the burning of the dross. I'm trying...
I love you, Aaron.
Love,
Mama
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