Inferno Hiking. Safer than Meds.

Ronan. I cannot shake this funk. I have a few ideas as to why.

1) The maybe baby thing. I am honestly o.k. with it. Somebody asked me if we were going to try again. Well, we didn’t really try the first time and I don’t foresee us trying in the future. I will not be watching the calendar for when I ovulate. I can’t do it. It’s too much pressure. If this happens, I just want it to happen. I can’t handle the stress/worry/waiting/wondering/emotions that come along with the whole trying for a baby. I trust in you. If this is what is meant to happen, you will see to it that it does.

2) Fucking Easter is coming up. Fuck! Enough with these holidays! I think we all decided last year, in Coronado to ban Easter. If my memory serves me correctly, which it often does not anymore, we decide to ban Easter and celebrate “Feaster!” instead. I have no idea what this means but I am feeling the pressure to come up with a plan and come up with a plan, fast. For the sake of your brothers. I think we talked about how we will worship a chocolate easter bunny for the day. There will be no pastel clothing. No fancy clothes. No Jesus at all. Not that there ever was, so it won’t be that different, in that regard. I know the root of why I am having such an issue with this “holiday of pretend.” It is because it was the last holiday that you were here. I remember exactly what we were doing/where we were last year. I remember how I still not did think that you were going to die. I think everyone around us did, but of course, everyone hoped for a different outcome. I remember how happy you were but now I know you were in such extreme pain. You had to have been although your smile would have said otherwise.

3) I’m still fucking bloody exhausted. I think my body is having an allergic physical reaction to you being gone. Is that possible? I think that it is. I think that I am having it. I am trying my hardest to push my way through this. I don’t have a choice.

4) This whole 1 year thing is harder than I thought it was going to be. It’s distracting me from everything that I am trying to do/get done. Every single fiber in my body is missing you to the extreme. I can usually control my sadness, Ro. I can usually feel it, deal with it, embrace it, and it sometimes it does not feel so heavy. This has not been the case for the past week. This sadness that I am feeling, is so heavy that I feel like every step/breathe I take, is weighed down by 100 elephants. Everything that normally works for me, is not working at all. I am borderline scared.

Today, I was productive or as productive as I could be. I did some foundation things. I had a little lunch with two of the loveliest souls. I felt lucky to have them helping me. So lucky, Ronan. I am still amazed how due to your story, the most amazing people have trickled into my life, wanting to help and be a part of this change. I am very blessed in that regard. I came home after lunch and I swear to you, my bed was a magnetic force field that I could not fight. I crawled in it. I crawled into it and I felt like I was going to drown in tears/sadness and pain. I had to tell myself I could have 20 minutes of laying down. After 20 minutes, I yelled at myself in my head. Get up now. You cannot do this. You cannot stay in bed for the rest of the day. I made myself get up, out of bed, and back to our little mountain I went. I ran up it as fast as I could. I made myself almost throw up. I ran down it even faster so I would not be late to pick up your brothers from school. It was hot and the mountain was empty once again. Just the way I like it.

I picked up your brothers and we went to Rita’s Italian Ice place with some friends for an impromptu play date. I love things like that and I love the friends we went with. Your brothers giggles and smiles almost helped with my sadness. I ran into a mom I know. A mom that I don’t know all that well, but I always love seeing her. She has the kindest eyes and has a way about making me feel like even though she has no idea how I feel/what I am going through, she kind of does. I guess it’s because I can see the way she loves her twin boys so much. The same way that I love you and your brothers and I can tell she is a really good mom. I appreciate that so much.

I came home, helped your brothers with their homework, cooked dinner and that was all I could do. I slipped into bed, early. Not really sleeping, but tossing and turning. My sleep is all out of whack again. Go figure. Tomorrow, I have a day planned with Dr. JoRo. I obviously need it badly. I am hoping it will help with whatever is going on. I cannot take much more of this tiredness/fog/fatigue that I cannot get out of. WTF. It’s getting old.

That’s all for tonight, little one. I love you to the moon and back. I miss you. I hope you are safe. Sweet dreams.

xoxo

The perfect song for you. Thanks Eddie V- you are pretty rad.

 

 

http://youtu.be/38Sc4riAVVk

A barefoot hike and a spicy little dragon

Ronan. Every single morning I wake up, the first thing I do is miss you. I will never be the mama that wakes up with a fresh set of eyes. My eyes are always sad, mostly bloodshot and my heart is always heavy. Every single morning, I have to make a choice to get out of bed. It’s a choice because a lot of days, I do not want to wake up at all. After a very heavily induced Ambien coma sleep last night (yeah, I totally went there), I woke up this morning saying all kinds of shit in my head. You HAVE to get up today. You HAVE to make 2 decisions today. You HAVE to check 2 things off of your list. You have to start making some decisions about Ronan’s death day/birthday that is approaching. I get up. I make my way to your brothers room the same way I do every morning. I walk past your room. My stomach drops that you are not in there. Your bed is neatly made. I go into Liam and Quinn’s bedroom. I open their blinds. “Good morning, boys! Rise and shine!” I turn on their shower. I text back and forth with Rita. We make some plans for tonight, as a family. YAY! I get to see her little dragon! I pack your brothers lunches and drop them off at school. “Bye boys! Have the best day! Try your hardest! Be nice! Be kind! Help others! But don’t take anyone’s crap! I love you!”

I decide to make a run to Target for a couple of things and one of them includes a couple of little trucks for my little dragon friend of mine. I get so excited about seeing him. I love his little raspy voice, the way he says my name over and over, just to say it, and the way I get to hear him call out to Rita, “Mama,” because that is what he calls her. I am a sucker for that mama word. I am a sucker for the way he sometimes talks about himself in 3rd person. I am a sucker for this little dragon friend of mine who makes me want another baby/child so freaking badly. I would actually just like to take him home, but I don’t his two totally amazeballs parents, would be o.k. this. I’ll just continue to take him in the doses I get him in, which totally makes my day.

It’s while browsing through the toy aisle at Target that I of course, walk past the Star Wars toys. I can’t resist. My heart flip-flops back and forth. New guys! New helmet guys that Ronan did not have, but totally would have wanted. I pick them up. I put them back. I almost walk away. I can’t. I turn around and grab the new guys and throw them in my cart. I’m buying them for Ronan. I don’t care if he is not here to play with them. I run home, look at my get two fucking things done list, I sit down and do them. Good job, you. I look around at our house. It’s so freaking clean. Everything is put away. There is not even laundry to do or windows to clean from your little pudgy, dirty hands smearing stuff everywhere. This is FUCKING BULLSHIT. I throw on my workout clothes. Well, since there is no maybe baby, I guess I can go beat myself up a bit. I drive to our mountain.

I listen to Dr. JoRo’s voice in my head telling me, no headphones… just try to be quiet. To be mindful. I run up our mountain. Except instead of taking our usual route when I get to the top, I turn the corner instead. I slip off my shoes and continue up, down, around, and around the unfamiliar trails. It’s hot. Nobody is around at all. My heaven. Inferno hiking season is almost back. My feet don’t really feel any pain. I run for a long time, barefoot. I stop after about an hour and a half of hiking up, up and up. I find a nice spot, throw my things down, sit down on a big, black rock. I close my eyes for a long time and think about you. I snap a picture to send to Rita. She responds back that the cactus I’m sitting in front of, looks like it flipping off cancer. I laugh. It totally does.

I head back down the mountain, keeping my shoes off for half of the way. I stop to put them on and start to cry. A few ideas trickle into my head about what it is, that I would like to ask people to do for your death day. I’ve decided that’s what I’m calling it. Not your passing day (that sounds too sweet) not your anniversary (i hate that too) I guess I could call it your Fuckiversary. That has a nice ring to it as well. You deathday/fucking bullshit Fuckiversary it is. I know a lot of people will want to do something. I’m creating a little list in my head of what it is, I would like to see done. Up until today, I have not been able to even think about it without getting physically ill and drawing a total blank. It was only today, during my hike of numb pain, that ideas started to spin around. I’ll write about them later, not tonight. I’m tired and I want to be able to let this all come about, naturally, and I don’t feel like I’ve gotten it all figured out yet.

My little hike lasted 3 hours. It was nice to be outside, connecting with nature in a physical way. I get in a funk when I don’t do things like that. I always feel close to you and I tend to feel the closest to you, on that little mountain of ours. I left your bracelets all over the same tree below, like I do every single time I am there. I always wonder who finds them. I always wonder if they will google your name and learn about the most beautiful little boy who ever lived. I hope they do.

I went to your favorite restaurant tonight, Chelsea’s Kitchen, with that little Dragon friend of mine, his parents, your daddy and brothers. I felt like you were there with us. Especially as I watched Little Dragon, jump into the water fountain outside of the restaurant with his shoes, socks and pants on. If you were there, you totally would have done it with him and I would have laughed. I laughed and I almost heard your giggles in the distance. I laughed even harder when that Little Dragon, grabbed someone’s shoe that was just sitting near a rock by the patio (seriously who takes their shoes off, at a restaurant?? if you ask me, they were just begging to be thrown into the water by a very curious 4/maybe 5 year old) and threw it in the fountain/pond. Such a little rebel Ronan move. Your brothers thought it was hilarious. Rita, apologized profusely, but secretly /not so secretly to me, thought it was funny. I looked up at the sky and blew you a kiss. It was a great ending to an almost good day.

I love you to the moon and back my very spicy, little monkey boy. I’m so sorry for all of this. I miss you. I love you. I hope you are safe.

xoxo

A maybe baby

Ronan. How can I be this upset over something that I was not sure that I was ready for? Because I had spent all last week preparing myself for it, just in case I was right. So, my emotions went from, oh no I’m not ready…. to o.k. if it is so, I can totally be ready/do this. I let myself feel sad/happy/scared/excited. I had myself convinced I was right. Turns out, I was wrong. Turns out, my body/hormones are completely out of whack due to stress/sadness/not having you. I’m not an out of whack person. My emotions stay pretty even keeled, even while dealing with not having you here anymore. I am a pretty level-headed person. This whole thing has kind of thrown me for a loop. I spent the weekend giving into my tiredness. I was nice to myself which I tend not to be anymore. I spent all weekend hanging out around the house doing all the old things we used to do with you. It’s normally hard for me to be in our house, but over the weekend I really enjoyed doing the simpleness of not much, with your brothers and daddy. I enjoyed all of this due to the maybe baby that I had gotten used to.

Then Monday came. I woke up so exhausted again. What is going on? I am sleeping fine at night without Ambien. I only wake up once and that is always at the 3:25 a.m. time that I swear to you, is your way of trying to get to me. After I wake up, pace the house, toss and turn, cry, sometimes not cry, I fall back asleep. I’m pretty sure I am getting in a good 6-7 hours of sleep. That’s a lot for me. The blood test I had done on Friday, came back negative. As in, you are totally not prego. O.k…… I thought to myself. So strange, my intuition/being in tune with myself is usually pretty accurate. Within moments of this phone call, the tears started. Wait… why am I crying? I thought to myself. I didn’t give myself much time to rationalize all the reasons why because clearly it was out of my control. So I cried. I called my Little M who I can always count on to make things sound logical/rational for me. I was sobbing so hard she couldn’t even understand what I was saying. After about a 20 minute conversation this is what we figured out.

1) Deciding that I/we, want/hope to have another baby, is mentally exhausting in itself. It’s taken a lot of work for me to get to this point.

2) I don’t get to be a normal mama ever again. Everything I do comes with heightened emotions. A maybe baby included. This is a whole new me for me. I’m usually so very calm about things.

3) This would have been nice because it would have just been something that pretty much just happened, not something that we really tried for.

4) I had my hopes up. I allowed myself to get excited… I allowed myself to think about the future, which I often don’t do. Most days, I am just trying to get through the day. I thought I would be o.k. with the maybe baby not being real, when in reality, I feel disappointed and sad. I guess I wanted it to be real, more than I thought.

5) This maybe baby, wasn’t meant to be. Or as Marisa said, this wasn’t meant to be your baby. There will be a time, this will all work itself out, when it is meant to be.

I stopped crying after I hung up with Little M. She made me feel better, like she does with everything. She even through in an “I’m sorry and can somebody just throw you a freaking bone?!” I don’t know if they can or not, but I’ll sit here and wait.

I spent the rest of the day crying/talking to myself and you. I went hiking. I talked to you out loud. I didn’t listen to my blaring music like I normally do. Dr. JoRo asked me to hike quietly. I listened to her. I told you all the things I always tell you, like how sorry I am. How much I miss you. How sometimes I don’t know how I’ll do this all, without you being here. I talked to myself about how I need to stop trying to control things that are not in my control such as life and death. I need to respect that I am not in control of certain things and when they don’t go my way, I need to just give into that and not beat myself up about it. I talked in my head about the logical aspect of all of this/the lesson learned/what I hoped to gain for the future. I tried my best to rationally play everything out in my head. I heard the screaming voice yelling at me that all logic flew out the window when you died. I tried my best to ignore that voice. I ran down the mountain as fast as I could go, wiping the dirty tears off of my face. I told myself things like, “You are o.k. you are going to be o.k. you have survived the worst thing possible, you can get through anything.” I gave myself a pep talk. I came home, showered, and picked your brothers up from school. I played the good mommy role that seems to be coming easier to me now. We did their homework, I fed them a snack, and we did an art project together. I made a big fuss over how proud I am of both of them, which I didn’t even have to force. This shows me I am healing a little. The things that used to take a ton of effort, are falling back into place a little more easily.

I’m still completely wiped out. I gave into all of this last week, but I am fighting it this week. I’ve got too much to do and I don’t have time to sit around and being tired. I am hoping I will get my energy back up, otherwise I’m going to be seriously worried. It may be my body’s way of remembering what is coming up in the next month. What my mind is trying so badly, to ignore. I don’t want the day you died to be here. I don’t want your birthday to be here, without you. I know I have to face all of this/make a plan. I will work on that this week, but no promises.

I told Rita I was blogging about this. I know it is a lot. I feel like I live on a freaking soap opera and I don’t like it. Although this is pretty personal…because I get the baby thing is personal and I don’t have to share it…but if I did not, that would be me not being true to myself/this life/what is going on, in our world. I started this saying I was in this for good. To share the good/bad/ugly/happy/sad/all of it. I couldn’t just ignore what has gone on and not write about this. That would not be fair, to anyone. You all have stuck through this with me, for this long. I’m not going to start sweeping really important things under the rug. The fact of the matter is, no matter who agrees with this decision or not… the whole maybe baby thing… it is our decision. Woody and I, made this decision a long time ago, before Ronan got sick. We both know this is something we want. We both feel like it is something that we need and would be really good for all of us. We love each other. We love Liam and Quinn. We love Ronan. We will love whatever/whomever comes in our lives next, when the time is right. We are a family that is broken, but we are broken together in the most loving, caring, happy/sad way possible. We will never be the same again and having just the 4 of us feels to wrong, to not try to make it, a little right. I’m not sure what a little right looks like at the moment, but I can tell you it’s not this.

I’m tired Ro baby. I love you. I miss you so much. I hope you are safe. Sweet dreams.

xoxo

1)Dying 2)Depression 3)Pregnancy 4) Mental Ward 5) Let’s just go to Mexico!

Ronan. If I am not pregnant, I think I am severely depressed. I told Rita this tonight. I don’t know what it feels like to be depressed, because I never have been. I’ve been traumatized over losing you so badly that I can’t function, but I would not call that depressed. I would call that just a mom, who has had the worst thing that could possibly happen to her, happen. And then you are left, feeling blind, deaf, dumb, alone, abandoned, shocked, scared, numb, tormented, miserable, heartbroken, physically ill, and like you too, would like to die. You are left thinking the pain alone, will kill you. But it does not. So you get up, somehow. I’m not sure how, but you do. I did. I feel like I have been moving on a high-speed train for months now. Doing so much, but it all felt good. Doing good things/being productive is what is saving me. Doing all of this while still respecting this pain. The high speed train has come to a halt. I am so freaking tired. I worry that it is because I have done so much/too much and now your 1 year since you’ve been gone is approaching. Your 5th birthday is shortly after too. I am going to freak out if I am this tired, and it is not due to being pregnant. This is so not like me. I don’t get tired. I run off constant energy and adrenalin. I can do 50 tasks at once, while hiking Camelback, blindfolded, juggling apples behind my back. Not this past week. This is not the flu or step throat or anything like that. This is something more. It’s either I’m really, really sad…. or pregnant. If this is what depression feels like, HOLY FUCK. It is scary. I do not enjoy this. Rita says if I am not pregnant, then we will be doing a lot of night hiking. Good solution, Rita. Seriously.

There are some things in life, that I am asked to do, and I just cannot do them without you. In my old life, I would have said yes in a heartbeat. In this new life I have learned to say no. There are certain situations that I know I can mentally/emotionally not handle. So, I have started to say no to things that I know will be too painful for me to do. Your daddy is so supportive of me and the way I am doing this. He knows when he comes to find me in the shower to ask me if I am ready, and he finds me crying hysterically saying, “Please, I cannot go without Ronan. Don’t make me go without him!” He knows not to make me. He just looks at me, kisses my forehead and tells me it’s alright, that I do not have to go. This is one of the 10 billion reasons that I love him so much. But I would still kill him if it meant I could bring you back. You see, RO… why couldn’t I have just left it at being one of the 10 billion reasons I love him so much? Why did I have to throw that killing him for you thing in there? Because that’s how my mind works. It’s kind of dark and twisted, in a pretty way. At least I think it’s pretty. But I am a sucker for a dark and twisted mind. I think they are the best minds to have.

I wish I had more to say tonight. I honestly don’t think I left the house all weekend. I’m feeling that crummy. I met Rita at Trader Joe’s. We Robombed the place with your little cards. That was the highlight of my weekend. Well, that and snuggling up to your brothers while we watched oh so bad but oh so good, 80′s movies. Ummm… hello, “Licence to Drive.” Top 5 fav 80′s movie of all time. I loved those Cory’s. Quinn cracked up at it. Liam thought it was stupid and actually went into the bedroom with your daddy to watch, “Storage Wars,” or something. He is obsessed with that show. Those brothers of yours… they are so stinking rad. I am so lucky to have them. I was so lucky to have you. I’ll never understand why you had to go. I miss you so much.

I’m sleepy, tired, and sad. I love you to the moon and back. I’m so sorry, Ronan. I hate this for all of us. I hate this most of all, for you. I hate that you are not here, and I don’t get to take care of  you. This destroys me. This is so not how things should have to be. I hope you are safe. Please be safe. I love you to the moon and back. Sweet dreams, baby doll.

xoxo

I’m not dead. I may be dying. Or I may just be…

Ronan. The weekend is almost over. I spent it with Liam, Quinn, and your daddy. Not sure all of what we did. We stayed around the house a lot. We played in your room a lot. We made breakfast together and sat around at the table, without you. I am never going to stop being sad. None of us will. But slowly we seem to be coming back together; as a family. For so long, everything felt like it was so broken, that it was unrepairable. It’s not unrepairable. I can feel things being glued back into place. It’s because of the love from your daddy and your brothers, that we will be repaired. It just takes time. None of us are in a rush. You cannot rush something like this. Do you know what your daddy says to me, every night before we fall asleep? That he loves me. And that he is so sorry. We both will never stop being sorry. This is just one of the little reasons, that I know we are going to be o.k. Because we are both so sorry. But there is no blame, no resentment, no anger towards each other. We are both just really, really, sad.

It rained here today. It made me miss you so much. If you were here, we would have gone puddle jumping or played in our backyard, in the mud. Your brothers went to a birthday party. I hung out at home with your daddy, in our quiet house. Our now too quiet of a house that is so empty without you. Your daddy asked if I wanted to go to a movie. I told him no. I didn’t feel like doing much of anything. I watched the rain from our bedroom, instead. I’ve been tired lately. I’ve slept really well, which is weird to me.

So, this new friend of mine, Margarita, has been spreading around some rumors that I am not all that dangerous! Can you even believe that, Ro? She totally thinks she has me figured out. I knew I had to come up with a way, to prove to her, that I am in fact, really reckless and dangerous. It was about 6:15 tonight when I suddenly, felt the need to get some fresh air. I texted her and said, “I’m going hiking. Are you coming?” She told me no, she would not be coming, that it was too cold and wet outside and she hated the rain. And she might hate hiking, too. Yoga. She likes Yoga. I do not. Well, that’s not entirely true. I used to love Yoga. Until my life turned into total chaos. Now yoga make me angry. It’s too happy/peaceful/calm. All the things that I used to be, but am not anymore. Maybe someday I will go back to it. Dr. JoRo swears by it. I’m just not ready for it. I told Margarita fine, but I was going… and it was not all that wet outside. She tried to put up a fight, but once she knew I was serious, she decided to meet me. It was starting to get dark as we began our death hike. I don’t know why I decided to go hiking, so late tonight but you know how I am… once I get an idea into my head there is no stopping me. We hiked up, it got dark, we turned on the flashlight on my iPhone. Soon the wind started to howl, (as well as an owl) and down came the buckets of rain. “Ummm, don’t think we are making it to the top, we’d better turn around!” I yelled to Rita. We were about half way up. Crap. It was really raining/windy/dark/totally dangerous. Rita yelled to me, “Maya, you may call this dangerous… I just call it stupid.” I started cracking up. “You are so going to hate me, after this!” I said. We made it down the mountain, without breaking our necks or spraining our ankles. We both yelled out, “Fuck you cancer!!!!!!!!!!” at the top of our lungs. I told Rita I wouldn’t have been hiking on a pitch black, rainy, windy night if you were still here. She said she knew. She asked why she was hiking, with me. I said because you were not here. Same answer as mine. She agreed.

That was Sunday, Ro. It’s now, Wednesday. Hi. Hello. I have too much to say. I haven’t been writing, for a few reasons. The main one being, I just don’t know how to say this so I guess I’m just going to fucking say it. I’m either dying of some horrific disease (more than likely, cancer) or I am pregnant. Or I am having a false pregnancy in my head which could very well likely be a possibility too. The placebo effect is very real and a total possibility, but I don’t think it’s that. I think I am dying or pregnant. Or both. But maybe just pregnant. How in the world could this have happened, you might ask?? Well, let’s backtrack way far back, to right before you were diagnosed. I had that little IUD removed out of my body. I remember driving home from the OBGYN and having the conversation with your daddy which was, “I just had my IUD taken out….. so now what?” Your daddy asked if we were done having kids. I vaguely remember saying, ” I don’t think so… do you?” We didn’t decide on anything right then and there. We just left it as an open-ended conversation. And then, a few days later, we heard the words that a parent never wants to hear which was, “You child has stageIVfuckingbullshitwhatthefuckthiscannotberealcancer.” Our lives changed over night. The baby thing obviously went on the back burner. I stopped talking about it. Your daddy started to bring it up, right around Christmas time, when we went to NYC to have your base tumor removed from your abdomen. Your daddy would bring it up, and ask why I wouldn’t talk about it anymore. I mostly just ignored him and told him we could talk about it, once you got better. He pushed a little. I ignored him and he pretty much stopped bringing it up. I talked about it with you only. We talked about having another baby brother or sister. You wanted one so badly. We talked about names and if you wanted it to be a boy or a girl. You wanted a sister. We joked about having more twins. You liked the thought of that. You liked the idea of a little one or ones, to boss around. We talked about it a lot, the two of us. It was our little secret plan that when the time was right, and you were better…. another baby was in the cards. Before the blink of an eye, you my healthy boy who was kicking cancer’s arse…. was not anymore. I swear you were doing so well, and then *BAM!* within weeks you were dead. I still can’t wrap my head around how that happened…

So, Ro…. since you’ve been gone, the baby thing has come up again. Not many people have brought it up. Your daddy has hinted around here and there, and I pretty much refused to talk about it. I only really talk to Dr. JoRo about this baby thing. We’ve been sitting with it, for a while. I divulged my deepest fears, lots of tears, guilt, I’m betraying Ronan, what if this baby dies, or gets cancer, or I don’t love it as much, I’m not worthy of having another baby since Ronan died…. I should not be allowed to feel any happiness or love that a baby could bring into this world, and how will I know, when the time is right??? She told me there would never be a right time. She didn’t argue with any of my worries/feelings/fears. We talked about them instead. We’ve talked about all these things for a good 4 months now, in-depth. She had her baby boy, Josh, after Chey died. She gets it. Sometimes I feel as our lives or so parallel, that it was fate that we met the way we did. Your fate. I believe you were the one behind me finding her. I am so thankful to you for that. We have too much in common for it not to be something more then just a coincidence.

It’s just been recently that I don’t cringe every time somebody touches me or gives me love and affection in a physical way. I’ve been so detached from everything and everyone. Your daddy and brothers included. I’ve told Dr. Jo that I think a baby is going to be the only way our family can learn to be a little happy again. It’s been in the back of my mind, for a long time now, but it’s only recently that I’ve started to come around a bit to start thinking about it more. Your Sparkly has been buzzing in my ear about it for a while now. Sometimes I’ll talk to him in-depth about it or sometimes it hurts so badly that I’ll say something snarky like, “Not having this conversation with you, today. I don’t want to go there now.” I always see the sad look in his eyes, when I refuse to have the baby talk with him. He always gives me the look and the, “Please think about it. You are the best mother. Please do it, before I get too old. It would be so good for you, Woody, and the boys.” I usually just look at the ground and try not to cry. And then he asks my to smile for him and I am too upset so I’ll just tell him, “No. No smiles today. And what are you talking about? You are not old at all. You are so young…” There are a lot of days when I won’t smile when he asks. I hate those days the most.

So, it was last Monday that it kind of clicked for me that, “Ok… maybe it would be o.k. to start trying to have this baby. Trying being the operative word here. Just once. Not that it would actually happen, but more like, let’s get used to this idea that we are not going to not try to not have a baby. I woke up Friday morning with a very familiar feeling. The same one that I had with you. Mother fucker! I thought to myself. I’m fucking pregnant! I’m not making those words up. That’s what I thought in my head. There were no tears of joy. No jumping up and down. It was complete and total shock, along with a lot of cuss words that followed. Wait a minute. I did not mean I wanted to actually get pregnant right this second. I don’t keep track when I ovulate or anything. I was just getting warmed up to this new idea. And HOLY SHIT. OH MY GOD. My boobs. They felt like they were on fire. That’s how I knew within in a week of conceiving you, that I was pregnant. I remember I went to meet Tricia for a run. I looked at her and said, “My boobs really hurt. I think I’m pregnant.” I was. That’s always been my first and biggest indication. It’s too early for a pregnancy test and I may full on be making this up. My body is so out of whack these days, I never know what is going on. But I’m exhausted. Sleeping like a baby. My boobs are still on fire. I have an appetite and I am eating weird shit like this seaweed crap from Trader Joe’s that no less than 2 weeks ago, I was making fun for Dr. JoRo for eating. Guess where I found myself, yesterday?? At Trader Joe’s, scouring the aisles for seaweed. Who am I?? What is going on?? I think I have a pretty good idea.

I’m mildly freaking out. But I cannot fully freak out until I know for sure. I can of course say, I was not ready for this. If I am indeed pregnant, I’ll have 8 and a half months to get used to this idea. If I am not, I will be totally o.k. with that as well. But I may be slightly worried about the power of my mind and it’s ability to trick my entire body into thinking that a baby is on it’s way. That will really freak me out and I may consider going on a long vacation to the middle of nowhere to try to prevent this nervous breakdown that is clearly happening due to your deathday/birthday/fuckingmother’sday that is coming up. That is a whole other post that I just don’t have the energy to write about tonight.

I sat in Dr. JoRo’s office for a couple of hours today. We talked a lot about you and the possibility of another baby. We talked about how a baby will NEVER take away this pain/sadness/grief I feel for you. How this baby, will never lessen this pain. How this baby will never replace you. How I need to prepare myself for the stupid shit that people are going to say like, “OH!!! A new baby! I’m so glad to see you are over the death of your son! I am so glad to see that you are moving on! This is a sign, from God! This is what was meant to happen! God DID have a plan, it included your child dying, so this child could be born! You are all better, etc….etc….etc….”

I get that people mean well, but I would really like to hear none of those things. I will never be over the death of you, Ronan. Never. I will never move on. I will never be better. I am just learning how to live a whole new life and this whole new life will always include the pain of not having you. I am learning how to manage these feelings that I now have. This life is wrong without you. This life is broken. This life will never be the same. But I am learning to manage all of this. Manage is the new key to this life now. I can’t change the pain, but I can make it manageable so it doesn’t destroy me. I won’t let it.

That was today. I’ve been writing and not posting. I needed some time to digest the maybe baby thing. Your daddy asked me what I thought you would say about all of this. I told him I thought you would be happy, but sad that you are not here, to be the big brother that you should have been. You would have been the best big brother ever. I’m sad for that too. I’m sad for another reason that has had me hysterical the past couple of days too. Today, is Sparkly’s birthday. I’m sad you are not here, to sing to him. I remember exactly where we were, last year, due to it being his birthday. We were in NYC. You were getting better, or so we thought. You were upset that we could not see your Sparkly. We took a picture of you with your big, gorgeous smile and bald little head to send to him. We sent him a text with your picture and said, “Happy Birthday, Sparkly! We love and miss you!” You were so excited to send him that beautiful picture of yourself. I wished him the best Happy Birthday I could muster up, without having you here to do it with me. I made sure my voice did not quiver while I was telling him to have a great day. I got a, “Thank you, sweetheart,” in return. I could hear the sadness in his voice though. I hung up the phone and buried myself in the pillows of our bed, and drenched them with my tears. I HATE THIS SO MUCH. You should be here, singing in the phone. I should not be on the phone, using my strongest/bravest/I am o.k. but really I am not/but have the happiest birthday ever voice. Please come back. I hate doing all of these things, without you.

Little man. I have to end this now. It’s a long, long, post. I love you to the moon and back. I miss you so much. I hope you are safe. G’nite baby doll.

xoxo

Dear Asshat Fuckwad Idiot…

Dear Asshat Fuckwad who told me that they came back here, to read this blog, hoping that I had found peace. Who told me to go read, “Heaven is for Real.” Who told me to listen to the radio station, KLOVE to find comfort. FUCK OFF. Are you even fucking serious? Because if you are, I would quite possibly like to shove that book and that radio station, up your ass.

I did not cremate my dog. I did not cremate my grandmother. I cremated my son. I watched for 9 months as my beautiful boy, fought with everything he had for his life. I watched him take his last breaths. I watched as he was put on a table and taken away. I will NEVER come to peace with that. And for you, to sit back and tell me that I should… you are fucking sick. You are not a good human being. Do not tell me what do to/how to do this. Do not compare me to other mothers. I don’t give a flying FUCK, if heaven is for real. That does not diminish my pain, my missing him, and us having to be apart.

NEWSFLASH:::::: THERE WILL NEVER BE A DAY THAT I DO NOT MISS HIM. THERE WILL NEVER BE A DAY THAT I DO NOT HURT. THERE WILL NEVER BE A DAY THAT I WILL COME TO PEACE WITH THIS. THERE WILL NEVER BE ANY WORDS THAT CAN MAKE THIS PAIN ANY LESS. THERE WILL NEVER BE A DAY THAT I AM NOT SAD, ANGRY, HURT, or broken. THIS IS WHO I AM NOW. But I am also learning that I can have moments where I truly feel happy. I am also learning that I have the ability to feel love so much more deeply now. How watching my twins at a baseball game, have a great play, can make me feel so happy that I feel like I am floating on air. Every kiss from them, every victory, ever hit of a baseball, every basketball shot they make, every spelling test they ace, every smile they smile… brings me so much more joy then I have ever known in my life. Every I love you, means so much more now. And it is all due to his death. I am not o.k. with that, but I know this is just how this is, so I embrace all of the intense feelings that I now feel more often then I used to. Everything in life means so much more now. Even on the days I don’t want it to.

And yes, you closed minded but God Bless YOU, little thinker… It may be offensive to some that I would have traded my husbands life for Ronan’s. Obviously, I would have traded my life first… then Woody’s. If there would have been a choice, this is how it would have went. How the fuck is this offensive? It goes back to our basic animal instinct. Do you find it offensive, that a mother tiger would do anything to protect and save her cubs in the wild?? Even if that means fighting with her mate, killing him, in order to save her babies? I doubt it. Because that’s the nature of survival in the wild. We are not that much different from the wild animals in nature when it comes to our babies. I would go so far as to say, most mama’s out there, would save their kids, before their mates if given the choice. Some people may be too scared to admit this as it sounds so wrong and fucked up. I really don’t care how it sounds because for me, it’s the truth. Woody would tell you the same thing. I know he would have chosen Ronan’s life over mine and I would have happily given it up. I would think there was something wrong with him, if he would have not traded Ronan’s life, for mine. But we don’t get that choice, so we will stay here, and be HONEST with each other about how much we miss him/love him. If that offends you… once again, you can fuck off.

I am proud of myself. I can see the way I have grown from this. I look back at where I was last summer, and that scares the shit out of me. If I were still in that state of mind/not functioning/angry/sad…. I quite simply, would not be here. I pulled myself out of the darkest place I have ever been in my life and I did it with the strength and love that comes from Ronan. I did it for myself, for my family, for my friends, and for all the people out there who believe in me. I am a fighter. I will fight for the rest of my life for everything I have, but also for everything that was taken away. I will never stop fighting for good. I may have a day or even a week here or there, where I take a break from it all and just let myself feel and give into this pain. This is my process, my way, and nobody else has the right to tell me what I am doing or how I am doing this, is wrong.

DO NOT CONTINUE TO COME BACK HERE, TO CHECK ON ME, AND THEN LEAVE YOUR NASTY COMMENTS. YOU DO NOT CARE ABOUT ME, SO GO TAKE CARE OF THE OTHERS IN YOUR LIFE THAT YOU DO CARE ABOUT. I have the BEST people in the world surrounding me. I have no need for stupid idiots that tell me to find comfort in a fucking radio station or a book. The things I will find comfort in are the things in my everyday life. Real, tangible things like my twins, husband, and friends. In Ronan’s Foundation. In helping others. In trying to live this so very wrong life in a way that would make him proud, would make him smile, in the way that I am living it, not the way others want me to live it. That is such fucking bullshit. I am not here to be a sweet pea little angel who is peaceful and content with my son’s death. It was wrong. It is wrong that this is happening to so many babies/children/teenagers, yet people are more concerned that somebody threw flour on Kim Kardashian while she was walking the red carpet. It is offensive to me that shit like that is splattered all over the newspapers/on the television/in magazines. There are REAL problems in the world and until that world wakes up, I will not stop fighting, kicking and screaming for all that has been taken away from me and my family. And for all that is being taken away from all the other broken-hearted parents/friends/siblings/grandparents in the world.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Go back to your world of unicorns, rainbows and puppy dogs. Stop coming back here, hoping I have found peace and then being disappointed that I have not. If other parents, have found peace when it comes to losing a child, good for them. I will never be one of them. I have no doubt, that I will find something. But peace will NEVER be the word I will use. The only way I will be using this word is when I say, Peace out to you, A-hole.

I would also like to include a post from my Dr. JoRo that is on her blog http://drjoanne.blogspot.com/ Read it and weap. And then feel like the dumbass that you are.

Thursday, March 22, 2012

Bereavement and Snorting Seaweed

When I broke the silence, posting my first public statement with regards to the DSM 5′s controversial plans for the bereavement exclusion, I had no idea the breadth and depth of its reach. Publicly, almost 100 comments on a registered site. Privately, hundreds and hundreds of emails came from the bereaved and the traumatized telling their painfully intimate stories. Thank you all so much for your courage. I’m so sorry I haven’t yet responded to each of you. I will, I promise.

Because I believe in Dr. Brene Brown’s research on vulnerability and shame, I’ve decided to give form to my own story as a bereaved mother in 1994.

First, let me set the stage. I had no history of mental illness, depression, or family suicidality. In fact, I had never been depressed a single day in my life.

Chey died in July of 1994. Let’s just say I was truly struggling in the early weeks and months and even years after her death.

Let me tell you about the first few weeks. I was absolutely numb. In fact, if someone told me that standing on my head or snorting seaweed would help ease the suffering, I may well have followed their instructions. It was, in my best description, a zombie-like state, where I was utterly unable to think clearly and relied on others’ wisdom to get me through the intolerably quiet nights and the unbearably chaotic days. I couldn’t remember to brush my teeth or comb my hair. I felt out-of-body, often like I was floating. I was convinced I was in a horrific dream state. I wasabsolutely more vulnerable to the influence of others than I’d ever been. This, to me, is symptomatic of acute trauma, and this state lasted until mid-September.

By the end of September, when the emotional anesthesia had run its course and my pain became increasingly apparent in affect and behavior, everyone was concerned. And no one knew what to do with me. Many of the traumatic grief markers that are often confused for “depression” were a part of my daily existence: insomnia, significant weight loss stemming from compromised appetite, anhedonia, intrusive thoughts, nightmares, heaviness in my chest, difficult concentrating, feelings of panic and dread, longing and pining for my dead child, forgetfulness, envy, long periods of weeping, social isolation, persistent feelings of guilt and shame, and yes even thoughts of ending my own life. My concerned family sent me to my first psychologist. After about 30 minutes together, he said I was “clinically depressed” and suggested psychotropic medications. Yet, I had a tingling sense that he didn’t understand me, that he hadn’t connected with me. I felt his quizzically judging gaze as I told him that I did not want psychiatric medication. I insisted that I was not depressed. I recognized this darkness as grief. I felt that her life and her death were worthy of my emotional and behavioral experiences, and the intolerance of those around me was baffling. This was not the answer for me. This was not my truth. Somewhere, deep inside me, I knew.

Still, he pressed me. And still, I resisted.

I walked out of his office hurting more when I left than when I entered.

That encounter was a dangerous one for me, resulting in some unexpected outcomes which added to my grief burden.

It took months for me to realize that her death was my burden to carry, not anyone else’s, and I would need to do it my way. And carry it I did. Clumsily, awkwardly, fearfully, mournfully, indeed. But I carried it. Still, at the enduring behest of family members, there were other therapists I saw after him, and while not all labeled me as “depressed”, I never felt that deep human connection. I would be the one-hit-wonder of therapy patients.

I did eventually meet two bereaved moms through a local support group, Compassionate Friends, who would just sit and listen to me. That was, by far, more therapeutic than any of the professionals I had seen to that point. Mostly, I just needed someone to bear witness to my pain. Then, I began to allow the ‘doing’ to come from the ‘being.’ I started theKindness Project wherein I began committing random acts of kindnesses for strangers anonymously. My heart was turning outward toward others, and I began to see the suffering of the entire world through my own broken heart. Because the pain is so imbued with self-focus, perhaps a defensive type of narcissism, serving others provided an imperative toward a new paradigm. Slowly, the darkness lifted and I began to rejoin the world of the living. And slowly, my family began to understand that this was an unending process I needed to experience.

The next year, I received a phone call at home. A quavering voice on the other end of the phone turned out to be the first psychologist I’d seen.

He told me that he wanted to apologize to me, and that he was sorry for the way he’d treated me. Then, he told me the real reason for his call: his daughter died.

I went to his office that night and we talked. It was a very important turning point for me, a moment of perspicuity for us both. He now knew. He was an insider. No, he agreed, I had not been depressed. He understood what this was, and his entire worldview had been irreparably altered.

Now, I realize that this is my story. Not everyone’s. Only mine. What I did not realize was that I was the expert in my grief. (Check this amazing story about patients as experts!)

But I’ve seen, literally, countless bereaved parents through the years and I’ve heard their stories of interactions with others. We have six counselors trained in mindfulness based interventions in our Phoenix offices, and they’ve heard the stories. In fact, we get the painful privilege of seeing them from the early moments of death to years, sometimes decades, later. To assert that mindful, existential psychotherapy is commonplace amongst providers of psychiatric care might be- well- a stretch. Good bereavement care and competent interventions are a necessary social offering. However, time and time again, research demonstrates that thequality of the relationship between provider and client/patient is what makes the difference in outcomes.

Trained providers who are mindful (and especially those who practice mindfulness), humble, and present are a gift. Irvin Yalom calls this “thegift of therapy.” Truly, good therapy can be life-altering. Conversely, inadequate therapy with an unskilled, unmindful provider can exacerbate feelings of aloneness and emotional angst.

But, when a child dies, even “good therapy” doesn’t cure or fix. Good therapy is merely joining the sufferer in their pain, non judgmentally with full acceptance and compassion.

Some of my colleagues disagree with my position on the bereavement exclusion and I’m okay with that. Philosophical inquiry leaves plenty of room for discourse. But there are some misnomers: Some assert that achemical imbalance in the brain causes depression so the two are not mutually exclusive. I agree that they are not mutually exclusive however to date, I have not seen, as Dr. Paula Caplan says, “a shred of evidence” supporting the chemical imbalance theory. I also disagree with colleagues who assert that we should, as a profession, acquiesce to systemic “labeling” merely because mourners can get help (need I remind readers that the DSM III “labeled” homosexuality as a mental disorder?). If the only way people can get help is to “label” them, then the system is woefully broken and we’d better get busy repairing it not further harming the vulnerable. Finally, in our single minded quest for biological determinants, we must remember that psychiatry is not an absolute science. Unlike diabetes or other biological diseases, there is no objective blood test that can definitively diagnose grief or depression. Rather, it’s a field of value judgments and clinical prudence (or imprudence). And let’s not forget that psychopharmacology as an isolated ‘treatment’ is gaining and psychotherapy is not; rather psychotherapy is “assuming a less prominent role”(Olfson & Marcus, 2010). I’ll write more about this on another day as I do have an opinion on trauma focused practice.

For now, what I can say is that, for me, those nights on the closet floor curled up in a ball and those many days of skipped meals and the added burden of existential loneliness might have been more manageable had someone just been present and mindful with me.

And like the relativity, they can keep the label. Endogenous sadness is certainly nothing for which to be ashamed. But assigning that label to me was inappropriate, premature, and yes offensive. Let me restate something I said earlier in this article: I am not depressed now, nor was I ever. And almost 18 years later, I continue to grieve and mourn for my child because my love for her will never end. And that is, as they say, the price we pay for love. And yes, for that, I’d snort seaweed.

My celebrity guest blogger of the day… Rita!

 

Cathi Herrod, I read SB 1462 – did you? I invite you to meet some of the kids getting bullied at school because they’re bald from chemo. I invite you to explain to me why you would use your political clout to kill a bill that would help teachers and administrators do a better job for our kids. For my kid. Open invite, Cathi. – Rita

http://blogs.phoenixnewtimes.com/valleyfever/2012/03/cathi_herrod_and_center_for_ar_1.php

Special Delivery of a red colored Slurpie! Because LOVE should not come with a label.

Ronan. Today was a very busy, important day in this new, oh so strange world without you. I dropped your brothers off at school. I came home, allowed myself to crawl back into bed for 15 minutes where I sobbed about you, got up, showered and got ready for the day. Becca had invited me to sit at her table at the We Stand Behind Planned Parenthood luncheon. You know how I feel about the whole luncheon thing… too many people… anxious feelings…not ready for the real world yet… but Becca asked me and for her, I would do anything. Plus, I do stand behind Planned Parenthood, so I was actually looking forward to going. It was empowering to be there, standing up for such an important cause. Standing up for what they believe in, which just happens to be, what I believe in. I am proud to stand behind this organization. Please do not bombard my blog with your opinions on this subject. You won’t change my mind. I hope you all know, just because I talk about some things I stand behind on here, I do not expect you all to agree with me. Agree to disagree. I am totally o.k. with that. It’s what makes us all unique, different, and as human beings and we each have a right to this freedom. This is what Planned Parenthood, believes in:

1. We believe all individuals have the right to make informed, independent decisions about sex, sexual health, and whether and when to have a child.

2. We believe everyone has the right to safe, high-quality, affordable health care – including the full range of reproductive health care.

3. We believe everyone has the right to comprehensive, age-appropriate, medically accurate sex education.

4. We believe in commonsense policies that promote women’s health, increase access to affordable birth control, and protect the health of young people.

5. We believe in U.S. foreign policy that improves the sexual health and well-being of individuals and families globally.

I support that. I support them. That’s the bottom line. I also get that some people do not support them and all I have to say is, to each their own. I have a personal relationship with Planned Parenthood. When I was in college, when Woody and I were NOT trying to get pregnant with the twins, when I thought, “Oh shit, I think I am pregnant!” just after we were newly married… I went to them for a pregnancy test. I was so young, scared, and they made me feel safe AND it was affordable. Plus, it was right down the street from our condo. I also always got my birth control from them. They had my back at that time and I’m a very loyal girl. Enough said. And please, do not be so ignorant to start spewing shit about how I believe in abortion. I DO NOT BELIEVE IN ABORTION. But I do believe in a woman’s RIGHT to CHOOSE. There is a difference. I do not believe old men in suits have any business telling a woman what she can or cannot do with her body.

Before the luncheon, Becca and I made an executive decision (because we are so official now) to run down to the Capital, to show our support for Nicole Stanton’s press conference regarding SB 1462, the anti bullying bill that would have protected the rights of ALL children in our Arizona schools. A bill that will protect ALL of our children, one day very soon, I have no doubt about that. From the little time I’ve spent with Nicole, I have no doubt that she will get this bill passed and it will be placed in all of our schools, just as it should be. I cannot get started on what I think about Cathi Herrod, the lady responsible for killing this bill. That would take up this entire blog to you, Ro and I just don’t have it in me. I don’t want to get started on this, but I can’t stop myself tonight. She pisses me off. She is clearly a pro bullying, racist, homophobic, mean lady. Whom I would really like to take home with me and have her sit down and watch all the episodes of “Glee,” with us. I don’t even watch T.V. anymore, but I would welcome her in for a little slumber party of sorts. We would sit, eat popcorn, drink sodas, and watch every episode of “Glee!” I might recruit Mandy Bee to dress up like a ninja and douche her with a red colored Slurpie like the bullies do on the show to the kids who are “different.” Crap. But then that would be bullying I guess. So let’s not do that… but it is sort of fun to imagine! It is soooo totally fun to imagine. Can you get arrested for something like that? Like if you did it in a public place?? Just sayin… Bucket list, Rita… bucket list.

Cathi, honey, darling… I hate to break it to you, but the gays and lesbians of the world, are not going anywhere, nor are they hurting anyone. They are people, just like you and me. So are the little cancer babes with bald heads, scars, some who are paralyzed now from this awful bully of unfairness called childhood cancer. Go get angry about something that is really harming children, everywhere. ALL KIDS HAVE A RIGHT TO BE PROTECTED. Childhood cancer is something to protest. Not a simple thing, like people just being who they are, and being treated poorly for that. THAT IS SO WRONG! I think I would like to meet with you lady. I have a few bracelets and a little story you might need to read. It might make you change your mind about all the stupid shit you are fighting for, which in the reality of this hell, that I live in now… just does not matter.  Fighting so hard against people’s sexual orientation, is so fucking stupid, that it angers me! What a waste of time and energy, to put into something that is nobody else’s business! When will this world wake up and start fighting for things that actually matter? I have a dead child. I think I win! Nothing else is worse. I have a dead child because of lack of funding/passion/awareness/stupid fucking politicians with the egos the size of china who clearly DO NOT CARE ABOUT DEAD BABIES WHO ARE KILLED BY THE NUMBER ONE DISEASE KILLER, IN FREAKING AMERICA! But who are more concerned about my son, sitting next to another boy in school that maybe likes to wear pink and sing show tunes! PRETTY SURE I WOULD HAVE CHOSEN TO BE MORE PISSED OFF OVER THE FACT THAT MY SON HAS A DEAD BROTHER OVER CHILDHOOD CANCER, YOU FUCKING MORAN! I’m pretty sure I would not be pissed off that my son might actually make a really good friend who could teach him how to sing/dance/love/be true to who they are/who they should have the right to be, without being bullied about it. It’s called LOVE. And that is a beautiful thing no matter what shape or form. I think I would like to go line Cathi’s driveway with a bunch of fake, bloody, beaten up, bald, dead, not dead, but hooked up to chemo-polls, babies and kids. I think I could make her change her mind-own up to her stupidity and apologize. You should be ashamed of yourself, Cathi Freaking ASSHAT Herrod(new favorite word, thank you very much FAIRY RoMo) You pretty much, make me sick. I don’t know how you freaking sleep at night lady. But I’ll bet it is a very cold bed. My bed is only cold, because my sweet baby boy, who used to sleep in it, with me… is dead. But thanks for keeping my twins safe at school by trying to keep everything so black and white. No coloring outside of the lines, right?? Thank Ro, I have the right to teach them how to color way the fuck out of the lines, at home. You can’t take that away from me.

Ro baby! Sorry for all my political rants! I did not mean to take time away from you. Ending that now. Back to you, to me, to us.

That was yesterday. This is today.

I’ve had a whirlwind of a week. I have been so productive, so positive, so channeling this anger into motivation… I knew I was going to crack. I kept it up, all week long. I helped others. I begged for some things to change to some very important people. I fought the good fight. I engaged with your brothers. I took them hiking, running, spent some real, quality time with them, went to their field day at school. I picked up the phone more when old friends called. None of this was easy. I did it all up until about 2:00 today. It was around 2:00 today, that the tears started and I could not stop them. Your daddy came home. He saw the look of sheer terror in my eyes as I stood in your brothers’ closet, hanging up their shirts. He wrapped his arms around me as I sobbed. Your brothers had a baseball game tonight. I could not go. I could not stop the tears and the thought of sitting through a game tonight, without you, was just too much. Just add it to the pile of mom guilt I feel all the time now.

Want to hear the one of the most fucked up conversations I’ve had, since losing you? It happened last night after your daddy came home from the Radiohead concert he went to. I opted to stay home with your brothers. It was late, around 11 p.m. I was not sleeping, but just quietly laying next to him. Your daddy looked at me before he fell asleep and goes, “I would let you kill me, if it would bring him back.” I didn’t even hesitate, Ronan and I said, “I would.” He goes, “I know.” End of conversation. It ended, just like that. For it being so wrong and so totally fucked up… if you can see beyond all that… it is actually really beautiful. Not that I need to be reminded, because I know it all of the time… but it just shows how much your daddy loves me too. That he would sacrifice himself, for not only you, but for me as well. To end my horrific pain. I would do the same for him, in a heartbeat. I would make him kill me, if it meant you could come back. That is how much we miss and love you. That is how much we hurt, from not having you here.

Tomorrow is St. Paddy’s day, Ronan. A holiday that I really, really love. I’m not sure if we will actually do anything, but I am totally rocking one of my most awesome tee shirts for it. (rude comments need not apply)  If you were alive, I would totally let you rock this in a kid size. How freaking funny would that be! I wore this the other day and some dude told me I was too tall, to be a leprechaun. You would have been the perfect size.

I love you. I’m going to try to settle down a bit. Tricia came by and could not even pull me out of bed to hike Camelback. I never say no to that. Tonight I did. I told her there was no way I could face the shiny happy people of the world today. I know when I need a break from it all. I know when to take the day off and give into this pain. I know I can only do so much and when a breakdown happens, to just let it happen.

Your Margarita kept me laughing through my tears tonight though. She has a way about doing that. She doesn’t just make me laugh on the surface like a fake pretend laugh. She really makes me laugh. And then she throws in some sort of jab, all ninja like, that makes me feel like I am kind of awesome… in the raddest way possible;) Or she’ll make me feel like a total jackass, for some of the shit that comes out of my mouth; but she keeps me laughing while she does it. I think she’s a keeper. I think the way you left that R2-D2 guy in her yard tells me you think this too. That was pretty nice of you, little dude. Thanks for that.

My eyes are officially burning. My heart is sad. I’m going to try to forget this world for a bit by watching a movie on this very sad, stupid, I hate every night, without you, Friday night. I miss you. I love you. I hope you are safe. I’m so very sorry.

xoxo

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I would have given anything to see you grow up.

 

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=qm87Ki7-TvA

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    Awesome trail. Kicked our asses. I have the war wound to prove it. #ronan #fucancer #bitthedustcomungdown #savedby @jadyngourley #hikingbadasses #nosociopathshere #pnwlove I can't even handle the cuteness of this. #poppy #ronan #theadventuresofpuppyandkitty #pnwgirls #wakeupsleepyheads #tinyhikers #itssbigbigworld #washingtonsummer @mommaozzzzz Secret handshake. #poppy #ronan #fucancer #theadventuresofpuppyandkitty #bestiesforlife #pnwgirls #4daysapart #troubleoneandtroubletwo @mommaozzzzz
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