Trying to Learn to Dance...

Dear Aaron,

As I drove home today, I was reminded that four months ago today I got a text from my sister. I was approaching the cemetery when it came through and I listened as I sat in the car near your grave.  In it, she said to "listen and process when you have space," or something like that. The recording was Gramma's nurse saying that she had decompensated quickly, was moved to the ICU and on maximum support. 

I knew, I just knew...

She held on for more than 12 more hours. I got to talk to her, say goodby and tell her to give you a hug from me, and be with you until I get there.

That night was so dark. It was cold. It was December. 

Today was bright and sunny. In fact, when I reached your spot, the sun was still relatively high in the sky in spite of it being 7 pm. I touched your angel that hangs from my mirror and thought of you two. I told her how much it hurts, and I could hear her whisper, "I know, I know." 

I miss you two so much, so very much. 

I was listening to a podcast today about "Bravely Being With Grief" by Robyn Gobbel, mostly for some of my work with clients, but it also hit home for me. I was reminded (again) that grief really never goes away. In her podcast, she talked about it just going somewhere else in the body and then resurfacing, sometimes completely catching you off guard. 

I think that's what happened today.  

Your spot is so beautiful. They're beginning to mow again with the spring warming up. Last year this time, I had to take everything down on Tuesdays because none of it was permanent yet. This year, I remove the butterflies and then put them back on Wednesdays, but your stone stays. And the flowers in your vase stay. And your smile stays.

I'm working on your garden here now. I'm hoping to get seeds planted (inside in pots) tomorrow, and your temporary stone cleaned and resealed. In a few more weeks, I'll start putting flowers in the ground. 

I'm trying, Aaron. I'm trying, Mama.

I guess if I didn't love you, I wouldn't miss you and it wouldn't hurt.

But I do, and it does.

Miss you both so much.

Love,
Me

 “You will lose someone you can’t live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back up. And you come through. It’s like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp.”

— Anne Lamott 

Third General Conference Since You Left...

Dear Aaron,

Hey kiddo, today is General Conference, and it's been a bit hard.

You know, you've been gone now for almost 16 months, 67 weeks (yeah, my brain still counts weeks). 

But this is only the 3rd Conference since then, and I found myself wanting to go check on you, make sure we got breathing treatments done, have your meds ready for the intermediate hymns, or check to see if you're awake and want to come in. Even after all this time, muscle memory activates.

You loved Conference, especially the music. There was a talk today on the sanctity of life, on protecting the unborn, and the blessing that this life is. I was reminded of the several times we watched from the PICU, and how one time as we were in there, the choir sang, "My life is a gift, my life has a plan..."

It was a gift, it had a plan. Father knew your days, they were numbered from the beginning and you were promised that you would have all the days you needed. And you did. And I still wanted more. I'm trying to be strong, Aaron, but it hurts.  

The weather is getting warmer and I'm finding energy again. Today Joseph and Andrew and I got started on a garden where we'll put the temporary stone that my friend made. It's not much to look at yet. I mean, this is Utah. It will still be at least a few more weeks before I can reliably plant things, but it's getting ready. Now I have to figure out what to put in there, but at least we got the fence in to keep the dogs out. 

But I also find myself numbing out. I watch TV shows or read books in an effort to avoid thinking, avoid feeling. 

I keep saying it: Grief is weird and ugly and just hurts.

But grief is also love, love with nowhere else to go. 

And because I love you, I won't numb myself for too long, just long enough to gather strength again to move forward, because you deserve that. You were so strong, so valiant.

I can't be anything less. 

Love you, kiddo. Miss you.

Love,
Mama

“life ends, but love is eternal.”

― David Kessler