Ronan. Cancer is stupid. And people are stupid. I try to ignore the stupid people of the world the best I can but sometimes they get under my skin. I try not to let them but as it turns out, I’m still human. For as dead as I feel I guess I’m really not because I am still able to feel. I wish I really were a dead zombie. Then I wouldn’t be bothered by these stupid, ignorant people. I would just rip their hearts out and eat them and then maybe they would be able to feel a quarter of the pain that I feel on a daily basis. Only in Zombieland, right buddy. Sometimes the stupid people of the world say stupid things like, “You know, there are other mothers out their who have lost children. You’re not the only one.” My reply is, “Really? No shit, asshole.” Please hold on a minute while I punch you in the throat. It is as if they are trying to compare my pain, to somebody else’s. Or justify it by saying there is someone else out there, who has it worse. I am not ignorant. I am aware of the other people out there who have lost their children. But guess what? They didn’t have a Ronan. So there is no comparing or justifying. You were mine and therefore, nobody else knows what this is like. I don’t care if they too, have lost a child. This pain is my own, this sadness is my own, this experience is my own. I would never tell another parent, “Oh, I know exactly how you feel.” Because I don’t. I understand some aspects of it. I can relate but to each his own. I am learning to be respectful of that for others going through this process. I’m still new at this game but this is something that I have learned. Unless you had a Ronan, you don’t fully know.
I survived Christmas? I survived Christmas. It was brutal. I took some time in the morning, before I got up and just cried for you. After that, I was able to go downstairs to watch your brothers open gifts and enjoy Christmas the way 8 year olds should. It was as nice as it could possibly be. All that mattered is I was able to get out of bed and watch as your brothers smiled, giggled, and laughed. I lasted a couple of hours but then the pain became too much and I had to retreat up to my old bedroom where you and I spent all last summer cuddling and whispering secrets to each other. I passed out for a few hours. I dreamed of you. This is the second time in a month that I have seen you in my dreams. They are never pleasant and it is always the same theme. You looking at me. I’m trying to save you, but I can’t. I know you are dying, but you always look peaceful. Thanks for that, little man. My heart was extra heavy on Christmas for another mama. Another mama who wrote to me a few days before Christmas to tell me thank you. I was sick to my stomach after her email. I don’t want a thank you from another mama because her baby girl died of Neuroblastoma. She died on December 7th, this year. This mama told me it was because of what I had written about you after you passed away, that she was able to tell her Charlotte all the things she wanted to say, right before she died. I don’t remember what I wrote about you and I don’t want to know. I guess I am glad it helped somebody else although I wish I didn’t have to. I wish I could give her Charlotte back. I told her I was sorry. I wish I had some wise words for her. I didn’t. Sorry was the best I could do. She told me how she just wants to be with Charlotte. I told her I knew. Oh, how I know.
Yesterday, I spent the day in Portland with your daddy. You know how Portland is one of my favorite cities. It was a nice day. We grabbed lunch. I ate a bit of soup but that was all I could manage to keep down. We talked. But not about normal things anymore. Our talk revolved around everything cancer. I played the game that I am so good at playing now which is we didn’t choose the right treatment. If we did, Ronan would still be here. Should we have done this? Should we have done that? We picked the wrong treatment for him. He insists that we did not. He insists the outcome would have been the same, no matter what. I still don’t believe him. But I guess I have little credibility due to being the irrational broken-hearted mama. I don’t need credibility though. I just need someone to figure out this fucking disease. I need the doctors to get a clue as to what it is they are doing so little kids don’t have to sit around playing russian roulette. I’m not stopping until this changes Ro. I promised you that. After the talk about you we moved on to other fun things like Coach Bemis. The coach in AZ who has Stage IV lung cancer and he is NOT a smoker. We moved on to Katie who is the beautiful 15-year-old girl with Rhabdomyosarcoma. We talked about Charlotte, Will, Dr. Sholler, Dr. Mosse, etc….. We will never be the normal couple again who goes to lunch and talks about the weather. We both agreed that this world is fucked. But we left there, holding hands and we’re not letting go. We know what we have to do.
We walked the streets of 23rd for a while. We passed a boy playing his guitar. He was really good. He had his guitar case open so people could throw money in it. He looked to be around 15. He had a sign sitting in his guitar case. It wasn’t the normal sign that read something like, “Help me, I’m hungry.” It simply said, “Help Fight Boredom.” I smiled and laughed as we passed this boy. I looked at your daddy. I had your daddy give me a couple of bucks and I turned around and walked back to this boy. I threw it into his case as well as your little card and your “All good things are wild and free,” bracelet. He said thanks and continued to play. I caught back up to your daddy and we started to walk. I noticed the boys’ guitar playing had stopped. I turned around to watch him read your bracelet. I watched from a far as he read it. He looked up and waved to me, the girl in the yellow coat. I waved back. That boy made me happy today. He reminded me of you. I hope he never gets cured of his boredom. I hope he remains curious to the world and follows his dreams. I hope he has a mom and a dad who know how lucky they are, to have him. I hope he is safe. I hope he is o.k. I hope he is wild and free. This is what I hoped today, Ronan. It felt nice.
Dear lovely little blog reader: I will address your questions but only because you have pissed me off and I am feeling extra spicy today. Here goes dolly.
Why is it ok to take Ambien, but not an anti-depressant? I think you are being slightly hypocritical. You need something to get out of the abyss you are in – other than your youngest son, which, while totally un-fucking fair, will not happen. The fact that you didn’t care if your older sons’ had winter coats speaks volumes. Christmas Eve and you hadn’t bought your twins any presents??? You need some help. You think you might need to check into a hospital…what do you think they are going to do there? I’ll tell you, they will load you up with anti-depressants. They will monitor your food intake and your vomiting. You will lose the control you so relish. The choices will be taken away from you.
You need to talk to a physician. Your constant vomiting is obviously not healthy – don’t your other sons deserve the same mom that lovingly helped her youngest son? While I’m not suggesting you are bulemic, have you ever read what constant vomiting does to your body, your throat, your teeth? Or is this part of your “danger” crusade?
No, I have never lost a child, so I’m sure that will make you totally disregard my opinion, but do you ever re-read your posts? You are on the edge and if you don’t get some perspective, you are going to fall off. Where will that leave your already devastated family?
It is NOT o.k. to take Ambien. For me anyway. I think this drug is the devil. Obviously you are a new reader and have not read all of my posts, therefore you are the one being hypocritical. I talk about this all this time. I hate myself for the fact that I sometimes have to take this drug in order to sleep. Not all the time, but it is during the times that I am struggling the most, when I know the lack of sleep is going to make the crack, so I give in and just take it to get some fucking sleep. It makes me feel mentally weak. It makes me feel like a loser. It makes me feel a lot of things that I hate but sometimes I need a break from the pain and sleep for a solid 6 hours seems to help. This is not always the case and I am proud of the nights that I don’t have to take anything at all. I try every night, not to take that drug but as I said before, sometimes I need a break.
Why is everyone so bothered by me not getting on the antidepressant band wagon? SHUT THE FUCK UP!!! If it helps other people, great! But it’s not for me. I did the anti depressant thing for about 6 months and it only made things worse. I have tried it, and I didn’t like it. END OF STORY. The abyss I am in is called my son just died 7 months ago. I am so sorry you are so bothered by this inconvenience. I am so sorry that you are so bothered by the fact that I didn’t care about my twins’ winter fucking coats and Christmas presents this year. Lady, are you high?!?! Are you on crack? Are you even a parent? Probably not. If you are, I am scared for you. The fact that you think the above things above are a big deal, in the grand scheme of things, disturbs me. I’m a good mom. I know this. I will never second guess this and anybody that truly knows me, wouldn’t either. Even if I didn’t go out and buy winter coats or Christmas presents this year. I think I deserve a fucking hall pass for this first Christmas, don’t you? I don’t care if you do or not. I’m taking it.
And no. I do not re read my posts. For obvious reasons. Maybe you should go back to the beginning and read them all though, before you judge and spew your words of concern. I’m going to go now. I’m off to go skydiving while I throw up my breakfast to continue my “danger crusade.” Opps. I didn’t eat breakfast today which must mean I’m anorexic. Clearly. I am aware what this constant vomiting does to my body. I’m not proud of this but it’s not something I can control right now. I guess having a dead son will do that to you. I hope the hospital that I am going to check myself into, can bring him back so it will stop. Have a lovely day, thanks for your concern but I think you need to go back and reread what you wrote and try a little harder to put yourself in my shoes. This is not a dog we are talking about, dying. It is a child. It was my son. It is not something a fucking pill can make better. Or a hospital. G’day lovely little blog reader.
Ro baby. I love you. To the moon and back. I miss you. I hope you are safe. I hope you are wild and free.