My darling Tavish,
It has now been a month since we said goodbye; a month since I last held you in my arms, and kissed your soft fuzzy head. The last couple of days have been hard for mommy. I don't know how to express to you what I have been feeling-I'm not sure there's really a name for it. I do know that for past three days, my anxiety has been harder to manage, and my desire to get out of bed gets less and less. I'm not sure that I would have gotten out of bed at all yesterday if it weren't for the dogs. Right now, I can't really say that I care about much of anything. This past month has gone by in a blur-at once feeling like eternity, and the blink of an eye.
People have asked me if this feels the same as when your grandpa passed away. I had to think about that one for a minute. I'm not really sure how to answer. In some ways it's the same-the grief comes and goes, I have good days, and I have bad days. Sometimes the bad days stretch in to a few bad days. Thankfully, they don't last long before a good day comes around again. Sometimes a single day can feel like a rollercoaster; the highs and lows blurring together at the edges. We never got to bring you home, so life here feels much like it always has. But that's where the difference comes in. When your grandpa died, being at home away from the constant reminders made it easier for it all to feel like a bad dream. It made it easier to not think about. But with you, I have so few memories, I don't want to not think about it. I want to cherish the memories, and the time we had together. I don't have the luxury of forgetting the bad and only thinking of the good. For me, to let go of one memory is to shorten what I had with you. I could never do that. I love you too much to separate out the good from the bad. With you, my sweet little boy, they are forever linked.
Dear Tavish, as the days go by, my grief does not really get any easier to bear. It takes different shapes, and sometimes I feel like I'm not really grieving at all. I hang out with my friends, and we talk and laugh, and act as though everything is the same as its always been, because it is. Nothing has changed. That, my sweet boy, is the hardest part of all.We were supposed to bring you home, to hold you, and sleep next to you. The fact that I know it should have happened and didn't makes it all the more difficult. I have the memories of what might have been.
As I continue to move forward, father away from you, and closer to what life brings next, each step like I am saying goodbye all over again. I don't want to ever move so far forward that I have forgotten what it was like to have you with me. That is my greatest fear, and what makes it hardest to continue on in this journey of grief. I have lost those close to me before-my aunt, my dog, my dad, and now you. For each of them, the further I leave them behind, the harder it is to hold on to them. I remember events, like snapshots in a photo album, but I start to forget their faces, their voices, what it was like to hug them, or hear them laugh. With all of them I had a lifetime. With you, I had but moments. I don't know what this journey will look like at the end, but I do know that I don't ever want to lose you, the way I have lost my connection with others that have gone on before. It's easier to forget, to refuse to look back, but doing so jeopardizes what I had, and removes the blessing that you are.
My sweet little one, I promise you that as much as it hurts, I won't ever stop thinking about you, and telling your story. I want others to feel like they knew you. I want everyone to recognize just how special you are, most of all me. Say hi to your grandpa for me.
Love,
Mom
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