Two and a Half Years

Dear Aaron,

It seems so strange that it has been so long...

And yet, like yesterday.

Forever since I held you, and only moments since I ran my fingers through your hair, kissed your button nose, and walked out of the room . . .  leaving you behind.

I feel disoriented, confused, bereft, and yet full of love and grateful for you.

Your clematis bloomed this week, except it wasn't what it was supposed to be. I "bought" a white one, for innocence, except this one is not white. It's purple. Not what I wanted. Not what I expected. Not what I planned.

And maybe that's fitting. You were very much wanted and loved, but when we learned about your extra piece of love, well, that was not expected or planned or hoped for. And yet, you were exactly what I needed. You taught me so much, and I suspect still teach me. You changed me fundamentally.

And as Dad said, if the clematis is supposed to represent mischievousness and you, well, maybe it makes sense that the long-awaited first bloom was anything but what I thought it would be.

Your big kids continue to move forward: new babies, new jobs, new friends, new challenges. I love watching them grow. I remember your zest for life, and your love for adventure. I mean, I guess you're on one now anyway. I just don't get to check in with you on what's happening. 

I keep on going. I try to make you proud. I hope you're happy; I really do. 

You are amazing, my son. You are the gift I never knew I needed.

I pray you know this.

I do wonder how many people still think of you. I mean, I know I do multiple times a day. One of these days I'll tell you the story of losing and finding my stone heart. It sits in my pocket again, where it has been every day since you left except while it was missing. The finding was a miracle that I can't explain, and happened two days before your birthday.

I needed that, and I didn't even realize how much. Your birthday passed quietly, with only three members of the family outside your dad and siblings even remembering. But three reached out, and so did a coworker that I didn't even remember telling. I think that touched me all the more because of those who forgot. 

Or maybe they thought it would hurt me too much for them to say something, which is funny 'cause I certainly remembered. 

I don't know...

Missing you always, but especially today.

Love,
Mama

"We never bury the dead, son. Not really. We take them with us. It's the price of living."

~ Henry Parrish  

Happy 16th

Dear Aaron,

Sixteen years...

Oh how they have gone by.

What a blessing you were, you are.

And how missed.

129 weeks today since you left (will my brain always know?).

I put balloons out last night for you, after chasing one halfway across the cemetery. Somehow it seemed fitting. And when I tried to get pictures, they kept bobbing and dancing. Again, I smiled as I thought of you and your antics. 

Grandma Sandra sent me a picture this morning of her fish flag flying in your honor. 

You are not forgotten.

I love you, Aaron.

Happy Birthday, my boy.

Love,
Mama

“With life as short as a half-taken breath, don’t plant anything but love.”

– Rumi 

Missing You...

Dear Aaron,

It's almost time.

Almost 16...

Warm enough to sit out on the patio and wait for the lights to turn on. Your clematis is getting ready to bloom. So is Gramma's rose. I wonder if that will happen before your birthday.

Do you celebrate birthdays in heaven? I always wonder...

I'm grateful for the warm weather, the sun that stays out so late, the hummingbirds that have returned again this year. I planted flowers (so many flowers) and now I wait for them to grow.

Wait for the new day.

Wait until I see you again.

Right now, it's softer, the pain. It comes and goes. I could talk about you tonight, your laughter and silliness, and the fear and anxiety when you would get sick. And it was okay, good even to remember you and tell people who never met you who you were, who you are. Because you still are all of the things you were here in our home. 

I brought the flowers home from your grave last week and replanted the pansies in hanging baskets. I hope that where they're on the east side, and often shaded, they'll make it through the summer. I guess we'll find out. 

Missing you, kiddo. 

Thank you for hanging on so long. I have no idea how you did, your body was so weary and tired. But your spirit was strong.

Love you.

Love,
Mama

"Grief moves at its own pace."

~Simon N. Whitney, M.D., J.D.