Dear Mama

Dear Mama,

Six months ago you slipped from this life (it was also a Wednesday). Two days from now is Aaron's 15th birthday. Are you planning his party? Will it be amazing? If you have anything to do with it, I bet it will be. I wish I had an invite. I mean, I wouldn't stay, but coming for a visit would be wonderful, except I don't know that I would actually want to leave. 

Morning walk with the
dogs and Esther.

I'm here with Daddy but I leave today to go back home. It's been good, quiet, introspective and also wonderful to reminisce with him.  He's doing okay but misses you more than any of the rest of us do, and that's a lot. 

We went to see you on Sunday and again today. I've noticed rocks that people have left at Aaron's spot, and I left one by your light-up dragonfly. I have no idea how long it will stay before someone pushes it back into the other rocks, but I know it was there, and I suspect you do, too.

It's weird being here without you. Just not the same. I wander around the house looking at old memories. I found two cross stitch pieces I made you, and while I know you treasured them, I wonder if you knew how much making them helped me. They were a way to change my focus from the stress of college classes and recenter my own self. I saw the little china girl who used to have a small dog attached to a chain and lit up. The dog and chain are now gone, and I don't know if she still lights up, but I seem to remember it came from Nana's. 

So many reminders...

Miss you so much. Give Aaron a hug for me and tell him "happy birthday," 'k?

Love,
Rebekah

“My mother is a never ending song in my heart of comfort, happiness and being. I may sometimes forget the words but I always remember the tune.”

– Graycie Harmon 

Your Birthday is Coming

Dear Aaron,

Yesterday I picked up all the flowers and butterflies at your site. This is the week that they do a full cleanup and everything that is not permanently attached is removed. Since I leave this morning for Arizona, I got it all last night.

But it was hard to leave it with nothing so I didn't. I scattered rose petals from Gramma's rose in the garden and left one big butterfly that had lost a wing in the wind. Placed sideways on your stone, it looked like it was still intact so I left it. And it didn't look quite so lonely that way.

I'm going to see Grampa today and I'll be there through Wednesday. It's a pretty quick trip, but I'm glad for the opportunity. I miss him, I miss Gramma.  I miss you. Wednesday, the day I come home, it will be six months since she went Home. It still seems weird to be in a world where she is not, where you are not. 

Be close, okay?   

One week from today is your 15th birthday. Three years ago, I finally sent out invitations just five days before your party. You were turning 12 and I actually didn't dare send it earlier in case you were in the hospital, or even not here at all. I felt like it might be your last one with us, and it almost was. 

This time two years ago we were in a fight to keep you and you teetered on a knife's edge. The NP who put in your arterial line had said he wasn't sure you would even tolerate that, meaning survive it. I guess that's why they handed me the gown, hair net, mask and gloves and let me stay by your side. You did make it through, and by your 13th birthday, your golden birthday, you were able to sit in your wheelchair. 

But that was the last one with you here, and now your second birthday since leaving approaches. Honestly, I'm not sure what or how to feel.

I know I miss you, beyond words.

Love you beyond words, too.

Love,
Mama

“Sorrow is so easy to express and yet so hard to tell.”

- Joni Mitchell

Butterflies and Baby Steps

Dear Aaron,

Your birthday is approaching. The weather is warm, sunny, and it stays light until about 9 at night. AND it's light when I wake, too. 

I do better in the warm, the light. 

But there was something else, too.

I wrote about finding the butterflies destroyed at your spot. Oh, that hurt. A few friends offered to help me put more out, but I have to find the "safe" place I put them. Sigh...

So anyway, on Monday when I stopped, I could tell there had been a change. 

I got out of the car to water the flowers and look closer.

Butterflies. More and more butterflies!! 

I have no idea who did this, but someone, or maybe a few someones, came by and left so many. 

I cried again, but this time was an overwhelming sense of care, of love.  This is the kind of community we live in. I guess that's part of why the destruction hurt so badly. I didn't expect it here. I see lots of mementos left, lovingly placed, and not bothered at all. 

And your butterflies, the ones that we've put out since you left almost 18 months ago, they had never been bothered. 

And my mama heart cried out in gratitude when I saw your beautiful place.

You know what else I did? Today I actually listened to "Okay" again. Man, I played that song constantly over the years, for you, for me. Singing it at the top of my lungs, music blaring from the speakers, reminding myself, giving myself courage to continue to fight for you.

And then, when you left and I was so lost, I just couldn't. I couldn't. I tried a few times but never got more than a few beats into the song before I had to shut it off. 

Today I listened to it. I couldn't sing it, but I also didn't cry. Baby steps. Stutter steps. And I'm sure I'll crash down again. (That's kinda a given.)

But still, my soul was at peace. 

I miss you, Aaron. I always will.

Love,
Mama

“Butterflies are like angel's kisses sent from heaven.”

— Malia Kirk

June 1st

Dear Aaron,

A crystal pendant hangs in my window where it catches the morning sun and sends rainbows into the room. 

"Look for me in rainbows...

And I do.

Another that Gramma and Grampa gave me for Christmas a few years ago hangs in my office window. Another on the back door. An angel on my rearview mirror.

I see rainbows everywhere. And I see you, too. Not with my eyes, with my heart.  

June 1st, and Facebook reminded me today that once again, you were admitted to the PICU on this date. It was a lights and sirens call, bagging you on 20 liters all the way there. A few days later I placed a call to Andrew's mission president to let him know that you might not make it.  

June 2023

But you did. Your golden birthday wasn't what I had planned in my mind, but we held it. Child Life and Social Work brought decorations for your room and we sang "Happy Birthday" (through tears).  

Three years ago I felt like that birthday, your 12th, might be your last one. It had been a rough few months and you were struggling; I worried. We had a big party where friends and neighbors came by. I wanted to do it again for your 13th, but there we were, in the hospital trying to nurse you back to health. 

June 2022

Last year, this year... You're not here.

Your birthday is in 12 days. 15 years old. As I think about it, sitting here on the patio, I smile even through the tears. You are an amazing soul, my son. I cannot understand what I did to deserve having you teach me. 

Right now, the crickets are chirping, a bee is buzzing somewhere close by, and the hummingbirds come to sip at their feeder. The dogs are lying on the grass and the sky is blue. I see your butterflies, your flowers, the raspberries growing and I am grateful for the peace, the chance to sit and think about you. 

I miss you, Aaron. I miss you so much.

I'll look for you in rainbows. And everywhere.

Love,
Mama

“How lucky am I to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.”

- A. A. Milne 

Marking Time

Dear Aaron,

Yesterday was your Andrew's birthday. You are so special to him. He had someone ask him how he could believe in believe in God after losing you at such a young age. He replied, "The reality is that I didn’t lose anybody the night he died. Because of God and his son Jesus Christ, families are forever. There is a God and his plan is perfect." I am so grateful for his testimony, for his strength and courage. He is an amazing young man.

I know those things are true, but I also feel like I'm walking through a fog, marking time.

And maybe that's what it is: marking time. Clocks tick, the sun comes up and goes down. Get up, go to work, come home, go to bed. Do other things in between. Weeks pass... Still passing... You're still not here. It's two weeks tomorrow until your 15th birthday. 

It's getting hot again, into the 90's this week. I'm wearing shorter sleeves and your trach beads on my watch band are catching people's eyes. I mean, they just look like a nice beaded watch band and so I've been asked where I got it. Sometimes I tell them where they came from; sometimes I just say I made it. Sometimes I can explain; other times I just can't. 

Someone destroyed about half the butterflies on your grave between Monday and Tuesday. It hurt, and I was angry! I mean, I know I screwed up as a mom, on more than one occasion (even if your siblings won't usually admit it). But I never let them, even as toddlers and babies, destroy someone else's things. When we were out in public, or other places, I watched them or made sure someone else did! Some people suggested that it was unreasonable to expect them to be left alone, or that maybe it was a bored kid. I wanted to ask if someone destroyed things on their loved one's grave if that would be okay, but I didn't. So Tuesday I was angry. 

Yesterday I broke down. 

And now, now I feel numb.

Next week I'm going to see Grampa for the first time since Gramma's funeral. 

I miss you, Aaron. I miss her. Her roses are blooming nicely in the little garden. Your clematis is kinda struggling a bit. It might be too warm where it is, but I'm hoping I can nurse it to a more sturdy plant. Anyway, I feel like I'm rambling, and perhaps I am. 

Your Scout dog is in the front room now and Linnaea found it. She was playing with it, and it caught both me and Andrew a little off guard to hear it say, "My favorite color is red! Is that your favorite too, Aaron?" Both a smile and a tear... 

Oh baby, 75 weeks tomorrow since your eyes last opened.

I miss you.

Love,
Mama

“There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds.”

― Laurell K. Hamilton 

Time...

Dear Aaron,

The seasons have rolled around again. There's more sunshine than darkness in the world right now, the air conditioner is on (sometimes), and as I leave the cemetery there are lots of kids and families to watch for enjoying Snoasis. 

High school graduations are this week and we've made it through our first year with no students in public school. You would have just finished 9th grade.

Seventeen months ago today you left us. 

74 weeks tomorrow.

517 days...

Tonight we'll go to your grave and decorate it for Memorial Day. I got new flowers to replace the ones that have faded over time, and there will be lots of butterflies. Gramma Brown sent bunches last year because she wanted to see it covered with them. 

It seems to be a softer time now. I don't cry every day anymore, but I still think of you so, so much. Like every time I wake up, or go to sleep, or see my screen saver, or your crystal angel hanging from my rearview mirror, or... or.... or....

Well, you get it. 

I'm fully licensed now, Aaron. I passed my test and did the paperwork, and now I have a big ol' "L" to go with the CSW behind my name. But I really don't feel any different. This was a long, long road that actually began before I even realized it.  You did this. You started me on this path. And I'm so grateful.

I miss you, kiddo. 

Love,
Mama

“It has been said, 'time heals all wounds.' I do not agree. The wounds remain.
In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens.
But it is never gone.”

― Rose Fitzgerald Kennedy 

Missing our Future Memories

Dear Aaron,

It hit me (again?) today while driving home that there are no new memories to make with you. I mean, it makes sense (as much as anything about you being gone makes sense). But today, somehow, it was more definitive, more "real" I guess.

It was a long day, a challenging day and I didn't head home until almost an hour and a half after I had expected to. And as I thought about your pictures, I was struck again with how there are no new ones to be had. Ever.

Yesterday was also challenging, but in a different way. Yesterday I took my licensing exam. 

And I passed!! 

Honestly, I don't remember being more nervous about a test in I don't know when. Like ever, maybe. But I did it, and now there's just paperwork to get my "L".  That doesn't seem quite real either. 

So in the morning, I was trying to stay busy and found myself up in your closet, the one with all your clothes and toys and blankets. It is well past time to remove batteries from those that have them, but I hadn't been able to do that before. I brought the toys downstairs and wrestled them out.

And then I got to Scout, still wearing the socks you wore to the hospital that final time, the ones I took off and put on him so we wouldn't lose them.

I couldn't do it. 

I just couldn't.

Instead, I pushed the buttons and listened again to "5, 10, 15 minutes of lullabies." To "My favorite color is red. Is that your favorite, too?" 

"I'm feeling sad. Will you give me a hug?" I did. 

And "I love you, Aaron!" 

Scout talked and sang so many, many, many times over the years. In fact, you wore one out and we buried it with you. In the hospital, at home, during the night when I was trying to sleep but you insisted on playing. 

And I just couldn't silence him. On Tuesday, I picked up your butterflies at the cemetery. As I did so, I walked around to the back and read the inscription again. "But there is a resurrection, therefore the grave hath no victory and the sting of death is swallowed up in Christ. Beloved son of William and Rebekah. Youngest brother of Deborah, Mary, David, Jonathan, Matthew, Joseph, Andrew and Michael."  

Oh my son, my little boy. I will see you again. I will hold you again. But until that day, my heart aches. I miss you. Somehow, I'm learning to live without you in this world, but it hurts. You are so loved.

You are love.

You are most definitely compatible with joy.

And I miss the memories we cannot make. 

I love you.

Love, 
Mama

Recalling days of sadness, memories haunt me.
Recalling days of happiness, I haunt my memories.

~Robert Brault