The Second Year

IMG_6479Dear Son,

In one week the date will mark two years that you have been gone.  Two years that I have not spoken to you or seen you or held you.  I am amazed that we have survived without you.  We use tools we have developed and learned to cope.  To the world, for the most part, because they don’t pay close attention, we look as normal as can be expected.

My tears come mostly at night, in the dark, as the day closes.  During the day I can fill up my minutes with busy work.  I find people to spend time with.  It is no substitute.

The word that seems to fit my situation best is yearning.  I yearn to see you.  Your sister and I talked this past weekend about the desire to return to a former time.  We talked again about how time would have changed things regardless, but not having you here as a frame of reference-it becomes speculation.

I miss laughter with you and the humor we shared.  I miss your affection and acceptance of me.  Your sister provides so much attention and affection, but we both appreciated those things from you.  Those things you uniquely gave.

Gartner snakes and hawks and absurdly funny situations all make me want to call you.  Just this weekend the most absurd thing happened.  Apparently the button on my I-phone that summons Siri is a little touchy.  Twice now I have activated it while the phone was in my purse.  I was in the garage after arriving home from a drive with your sister and we opened the door for the dogs to come barreling out. Asa charged out barking.  After he quieted I heard Siri talking.  The mechanical female voice said she could not find “Rock, rock, rock, rock, rock, rock ,rock, rock,rock,rock,rock,rock!  Did I mean Rock City Donuts?”  Your sister and I had a good laugh and now have adopted it to use when we need comic relief – either with a situation with the dogs or when we are confused about something.  Did you mean “rock, rock, rock?”  Somehow for me, odd as it was, I felt you there with us in that moment – laughing.

It really stinks that that is all I have.  I feel really sorry for myself, your dad and your sister.  The world has been diminished by your passing.  We will never know what might have been accomplished by you and I shy from that speculation because it is of no value for the day.

Your good influence on me however, was not wasted.  You taught me so much and opened my mind to possibilities that I never imagined.  I have gained more by having my children than they ever gained from me.  Amazing individuals – both of you.

I was changed the moment you came into my life – and when you departed.  Learning to deal with the latter is daunting since my learning curve has flattened quite a bit with time.

I think I have learned to muddle through the daily routine so far.  I don’t think progress is the right word for that.  When the periods of grief hit they are brutal and intense.  I have developed some physical pains with arthritis and joint pain.  I have come to expect them.  I expect the grief will come yet its intensity always surprises me and sometimes I feel panic that – this time – I won’t be able to pull out.  This time the nose dive will drive me into the earth in flames.

But then I think of you, your way of calming me – I breath deeply and slowly I reemerge.

I know I carry a lot of you with me.  I see you in your dad and sister.  I remember your words and smile.  We miss you.

I shuffle back through these paragraphs of inadequate words and think of the volumes of emotion that cannot be expressed.

I love you so much.  You are mine now and forever.


About pathfinder

Artist, Writer, Walking wounded.
This entry was posted in Coping with the Death of a Child, Death, Dogs, Family and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

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