Using the phrase “I miss you” seems so insignifcantly meaningless compared to the way I really feel. Some days are easier than others and everyone says that is normal, but when it hurts, it hurts really, really bad. That’s the part that few truly understand. Staying busy at work continues to help and I continue to get emotional when your name comes up, but I try harder to hold back the tears for my car ride home. People want me to be okay. They make comments like, “I don’t know how you do it,” or “your a strong woman.”
I don’t know what I’m suppose to be like, so per my usual self I’m paving my own road. I seem to have a habit of moving down the roads less traveled by…again and again, but that was intended to be the road where I lived happily ever after with you, Sage and your dad.
Speaking of us, your family, we have worked the last couple of weekends to make your memory garden as simple and beautiful as could be. Just the way you’d like it. We planted the Camilla tree that DREDF gave us at your Celebration of Life, planted a dozen small patches of ground cover with tiny white flowers in them and a few Dahlia bulbs. We’ve been on the hunt for the perfect Jizo Buddha to put under your Camilla tree. I’ve been reading about Jizo and have pinned a number of cute ones to my Olivia Memorial Board. I’m sure we’ll find the perfect one very soon. We added two of your most favorite outdoor texture items to your garden; new bark and your white pond rocks. Some of the rocks have words and messages on them written mostly by me, but there is also a couple for Sage and one from Aunt Ari. I add new ones as I feel the need, but mostly on days that I miss you the most. They always make me feel better. I made several back in January and others here and there, but this week I’ve made more than usual.
Lately, grief has left me emotionally on the edge. Its not something that I want to talk to anyone about, it’s just the way it is.
I think the shock of you being gone has been settling in. Your dad says he feels the same way. I’m too the point now that I can’t even say, write or even think about the words “I miss you” without crying. I just can’t. I don’t understand why it’s getting harder instead of easier. Isn’t time suppose to heal? Three and half months isn’t long, but why are something so much harder to handle today? At times I feel like I’m living a double life. On the outside I appear to have it all together, but on the inside I’m hurting and constantly trying to figure out how to center myself. Maybe this is all a part of the transition mothers like me have to go through after loss. I don’t know. I never did find a grieving group that interest me and similarly to when you were born, I don’t know any parents with disabilities like me that have or had kids like you. We were two needles in a haystack when you arrived and I remain to be one now. I was so proud of you and of us. I loved us. We were a team.
I ran into Teacher Margot at the store tonight. It’s the first time I’ve seen her in months. I couldn’t even look at her without tearing up. She misses you and I miss seeing you with her. I hate it.
I love you.
2 thoughts on “This Road Sucks”
Hi. Following is something that a wrote last February about my friend Allen, who died 45 years ago. After he died, I wrote a song for him, the last verse of which reminded me of what you wrote just now:
“I don’t know just how I feel, Left with wounds that time won’t heal, Wounds that draw the water from my eyes. They say that time can take away The pain that lingers day to day. Oh but every day another morning dies.”
Realized I should’ve included the chorus:
Oh but don’t you know they lied When they told me that he died Don’t you know I see him every day. All the time we shared is there And all the love we cared is where The time we had could never pass away.