Sun and Shadow

Dear Aaron, 

This morning I was running a couple errands early, although not as early as I did on Saturdays when you were still here. Then I had to be back home by 8 to sign out a nurse. Today I didn't leave until almost 8:30. Whatever...

Anyway, the sun was peeking over the mountain, just barely. As I drove, sometimes it hid, sometimes a tiny beam shown, sometimes the full glory appeared. 

I'm starting to wonder if that's a metaphor for what I'm dealing with.

Sometimes I'm okay, even happy for you, at peace knowing you're whole again and just grateful for you, your lessons, the gift of you and a much longer life than we had expected. Sometimes that joy is tinged with the pain of missing you.

Sometimes it's dark, overwhelming, aching pain of your loss.

And sometimes it vacillates pretty quickly along the spectrum. 

I don't cry every single day right now, but still on most of them. And there's days where everything moves pretty smoothly, okay, and then suddenly it hits all over again. A song, the stoplight by your school, something I see online, a memory. 

A smile, a laugh, and then followed by a sob. 

Or even the other way around. 

Today is General Conference. Today we hear from the prophets. It will be a different experience. Daddy and I are both getting better but we're not 100%, so no one will be joining us. From weekends with a plethora of snacks, blankets and pillows on the floor and plenty of "shhh, I can't hear," or ones in the PICU with it playing on the TV in the corner of your room while I met with the team rounding, to this one.  It will be the two of us (and the dogs). We have food but not really needing lots of sugar and snacks to keep us focused.  It's different...

I miss you, Aaron. I miss the me I was before you left. I thought I knew pain, knew heartache, but it was only a shadow of what was to come. There is no preparation for burying your child. None.

And that's probably good.

I love you.

Love,
Mama

“You meet grief without introductions”

― Jane Edberg 

So Sick

Dear Aaron,

This is miserable.

It's not Covid, we tested. It's not the flu, it came on too slow, but it's something nasty.

Maybe your old nemesis rhino?

But I don't remember feeling this lousy before. 

My body aches, my throat is raw from coughing, my nose is a faucet, and I've fevered. At 55, 102* is miserable! Fortunately, it hasn't gone up that high today. In fact, it's not truly a fever, 99.8*, but still...

Yuck. 😞

I guess the good news is that I think I'm better than yesterday, and hopefully even better tomorrow. A new quarter began this week at work and I'm starting it out way behind. Oh well...

And you're not here, which this time is a good thing. Daddy has been sick too but he doesn't seem to be quite as miserable as I am. You know I checked my sats. They haven't gone below 92% so I think I'm good that way. 

With no one but Daddy and me (and the dogs) it's been pretty laid back. Lots of soup, lots of liquids, lots of rest, just trying to get through it. Even going to the cemetery to pick up your things yesterday before mowing was really hard, like physically hard. Emotionally it always tugs at my heart.

And frankly, I'm feeling a bit embarrassed. I mean, you did this All. The. Time. And you didn't really complain. Plus you'd end up with IVs and breathing treatments and often no food. You did like the attention though. I don't think I would. I'm trying to hide away and just get through it. I'm actually hoping I can be back at work on Friday. If tomorrow is as much better than today was from yesterday, it shouldn't be a problem. 

But I'm still not hanging out with Sterling this weekend, or seeing the others. 

Nobody wants this. 

I miss you, Aaron. I came home from work early on Monday and have pretty much just been hanging around the house. Or in bed. And I feel like I'm at loose ends. I stay busy enough during the week that it's not as hard. But still, I'm glad you don't have to deal with this garbage any more. 

I love you so much.

Thanks for being an awesome kid, and blessing us with your life. 

It was truly a blessing to have you here.

My friend's comment keeps echoing through my head.

May his memory be for a blessing.

And it is, you are.

Love,
Mama

"The light that cannot be put out." 

SOFT Conference 2024