The end of August is so hard for me. The 31st is the anniversary of Jameson's hernia surgery that turned into the four month hospital stay that ended in his death. It's been five years since that happened, but it still hurts like it was yesterday. The fear is gone, because I know what happens, and not knowing is the scariest thing. But the pain, that lingers. I've made peace with the pain. It will never go away on this earth, and frankly, I'm glad for that, because what kind of person could I be if I wasn't in pain for the rest of my life? My son has been gone for almost five years. Five years.
I was telling one of my most favorite people in the whole world the other day how Timehop is so fun, except right now. It gets SO hard now. When five years ago the updates are that my son can't breathe and he has blood pouring out of chest tubes and pain and suffering and no one knows the the hell is wrong with him. And then on September 5, when we get the diagnosis and it says that he dying. My son was dying. And they said we would maybe get five years with him. But we weren't that lucky.
Grief is a complicated and messy thing. And losing a child is hard on more levels than I can describe. And it never goes away. It never ends. The days that are good carry guilt for the lack of grief. The days that are bad are indescribable. Most days are in the middle. As time goes on, pushing me forward, pressing me farther and farther away from him, he starts to feel more and more a stranger to me and I cannot get over that. I can't remember anymore how it felt to hold him in my arms. I can't remember the sound of his voice unless I watch one of the very few videos that I have of him. I can't remember what is was like to tuck him in and snuggle close unless I try so hard. The memories of my boy are one of my finest treasures and yet they are like sand in my hand and I cannot keep them, as hard as I try.
The grieving mother in me wants nothing more than to just STOP the world. Just freeze everything and spend every moment possible breathing him in, remembering, commemorating. But I can't do that. Because my world is more than Jameson. I have two living children, a husband, family, friends. And my own life. And so I keep moving forward, some days as if I'm on a treadmill with no way to get off. But I do keep running.
I really don't like ending blog posts so sadly. I really don't like being a Debbie Downer. And I reach and seek JOY every day. But the next four months are HARD. And this is my sacred place to share my heart and soul and I need to write openly. So don't feel bad for me, but please do support me. Tell me stories and moments about my boy that you remember. Tell me that you love his smile and wish you knew him. And please don't forget him. Because I'm trying with everything in me not to.