Mama, a year ago today you went to the hospital. I seem to remember you took yourself there and when asked why, you said you needed to know if you could do it on your own, and you did. They admitted you for a "tune-up." I mean, you really weren't too bad off, and then a couple days later you were done.
Tricia called on the 10th and I knew....
You were gone the next day.
The last thing I said to you was, "I love you. Please find Aaron and hold him for me until I get there." I was told you smiled...
And Aaron, the year before, 2023, the nurse woke me the morning of the 9th because your heart rate was kinda high. I thought your albuterol treatment would have caused it (he was a relatively new nurse) but when he said it was 140, I knew that wasn't the case. We watched and I babied you all day, but by nighttime it was obvious that we needed more help. Your official admit date was also December 10. Your last one...
And your last "real" smile was just three days later on your 6 month birthday, right before your body essentially crashed.
Your last week here at home was pretty amazing! Smiles, laughter, playing. Was that also a rally? Like Gramma with Thanksgiving? Were those final happy moments your gift to me, to help see me through so many, many years without you?
It's only been two so far and it seems so long, and yet, the grief still hits almost as sharp as initially. Well, maybe not quite. Back then I couldn't even wrap my brain around it. I would hear your machines, the beeps. I tried to go to your room on multiple occasions to check or give you meds. Your things still smelled like you.
Not anymore.
I don't even know what to do to mark your angelversary. Or Gramma's.
I've asked people to send me stories, or things you taught them, or happy actions they do in your name. It's interesting, most of them have come from other angel moms, and almost all the rest from special needs moms. A few have come from others, including a children's librarian who loved your big kids when they were tiny.
But it seems that they are the ones who understand, who know the fear of a child being forgotten. Maybe others are afraid of making me hurt. I don't think they understand that while I may cry, the pain of not remembering you is much more. And honestly, I'm going to cry anyway.
I've got two more weeks of work before the holiday break. I'll get through it, and it will go well. But I don't think I'll be scheduling any extra sessions. I just don't have it in me. And I'm learning that it's okay to slow down a little.
Oh Aaron, Mama, I miss you! I'm grateful for the lights, for the music, for the sights, the innocent wonder in a small child's eyes. I'm glad there's joy this month, because there's also (almost) unbearable pain. I went to Avanlee's Messiah concert. It was beautiful and brought back so many memories of singing in high school. But somehow, during the Hallelujah chorus, I was reduced to sobs. There were some quietly singing with the choir from the congregation, and I have to wonder if there weren't many more that we couldn't see singing as well. Were the two of you there? Was it your voices that I heard?
Maybe....
Love,
Mama/Becky
No comments:
Post a Comment