Ro baby. 6 months. Soon. 3:22 a.m. tomorrow. In just 5 and a half hours. No. NO.NO. But yes. Because as I said tonight, as I was leaving Dr. JoRo’s, I’m being punished for something I did in a past life or something? I must have done something really, really, awful to deserve this pain, yes? That’s the only thing I can think of, that makes sense. What would I have done that would have been so horrific, that I deserved to lose you? Murdered 10,000 babies? Did I blow up an entire city? It must have been something huge, for this to happen. WTF? But it doesn’t make sense. Because I don’t really have a mean bone in my body. Except if you piss me off. Then I will punch you. But I really won’t. I don’t think I’ve ever punched a person in my life, but I think it sounds cool, so I like to say it.
What has been going on, little man? I don’t know. I don’t even know the last time I’ve written. It feels like weeks ago. The Fashion Show is Thursday. THE FASHION SHOW IS THURSDAY! I’m not sure if I’m excited. I don’t really know the feeling of excitement anymore. Am I proud? Yes. I guess. What does that, even really mean? Am I proud that I have not slit my wrists or run off to China, solo? Sure. I guess. Whatever. And I thankful? Some days. I am thankful for all the amazing people, surrounding me. Helping with this. Supporting us. Loving you. Everyday. Everyday, Ro. Because they are the people, in this world, who get it. For as much as they don’t, they do. But, I’m not thankful because you are dead. And I just want you back. But I can’t have you back, so I will surround myself with the people who won’t let me fall. Or, who will let me fall but who will be there to just rub my back and let me cry while I carry around my dead child’s blanket and bury my face in it to cry like I did tonight at the Garage. And Katie didn’t need to say anything. She just let me be. She just let me bury my head and cry while she stood by and rubbed my back. And that was enough. After that, we went out for a quick bite to eat. With her darling store employee, Christy, and Denise who flew in from San Francisco to help with the fashion show. To support us. Because she loves us and believes in you. We went to dinner and I made the girls laugh. Do you know, that never happens anymore, Ro? And you know how secretly funny I am. You know that it is only when I am truly comfortable that I am able to let me funny side, come out. We were talking about the perception of me now. I guess because I throw the fuck word out a lot on here, people expect when they meet me, that I am some tough-ass, rocking out, loud, center of attention, chick. And then when they meet me, they are thrown off because I’m actually pretty shy and quiet. I told Katie and the girls tonight that when I meet someone for the first time, that reads this blog that instead of saying, “Hi, I’m Maya. Nice to meet you.” That I should really say, ” Hi, I’m Maya. Nice to FUCKING MEET YOU!” The whole table laughed at that tonight and it was a nice way to end a hard day and night, by making some of the sweetest girls alive, laugh. Because for that split second I didn’t feel like Maya Thompson, whose son just died of cancer. For that split second I felt like Maya Thompson, the girl who has a great life with 3 healthy boys, and who is funny as shit. But only if she let’s her guard down with you. I loved that split second of feeling normal, Ro. I miss it a lot some days. Most days. All days.
I think I have been running around like mad. I’m pretty sure, after this event, I am going to crash and burn. For a lot of reasons. I’m pretty sure, Katie, deserves to go on an exotic vacation for a good 2 weeks and does not need to answer her phone or emails while I send her on this pretend vacation. If I had a magic wand, I would bring you back and send Katie somewhere amazing. And we would go with her and play in the sand and help you make Star Wars castles. I’m pretty sure, you would love all of this. I’m pretty sure, most of the people who are alive and who have kids who are alive and who can easily do this, don’t. Or if they do, they don’t know how lucky they truly are. And I hope if they read this and the next time they get to do this, that they think of you, and do realize how lucky they are. Because having a healthy family is really what it’s all about. It’s all that matters, really. I knew this. We all knew this which is why this really seems like a sick joke. Maybe if I had been a bad mom this wouldn’t hurt so much? Do you think that’s the case, Ro? Do you think if I had been a really, really, bad mom who drank and did lots of drugs and who didn’t take care of her kids that I wouldn’t be hurting so much? Do you think because I took such good care of you and loved you and your brothers so much, that the pain couldn’t possibly get any worse? I kind of do. I’ve told you this before. It’s like I’m being punished because I loved you too much. And you loved me so much that the world was scared of it or something? Or maybe it was because your eyes were too blue and mine are too green? Who the fuck knows. And I don’t know if I’ll ever know so I’ll just end this little paragraph with a poem that our Dr. JoRo sent me. Here you go, little bug.
“Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books that are now written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.”
― Rainer Maria Rilke
I saw Dr. JoRo tonight. Do you want to know her scale for figuring out how I am doing on a daily basis is, Ro? She asks me now, “So, is it a shitty day, a fucking shitty day, or a mother-fucking shitty day?” Today, I told her it was a mother-fucking fucking shitty day and I had a hit list with 3 people on it. She goes, “Oh, that’s a new one!” We then sat for the next few hours and went over what’s been going on. I guess a lot. I sat there and stared at you on the obituary she has of you, displayed in her office. Your big, blue eyes just stared at me. I told Dr. JoRo that this is so fucking unfathomable to me, that I felt like you were somebody else’s child, staring at back at me from your picture. You, that sweet gorgeous dead child, couldn’t possibly have been mine. No way. Nope. Never. Not happening. I am not the one in the room, talking to Dr. JoRo because that gorgeous creature of mine, staring at me with eyes that I used to get lost in, is fucking dead of cancer. Almost 6 months ago. Dr. JoRo said I looked tired. I told her, always. Which is why I was wearing my purple glasses tonight. To hide the dark circles under my eyes. Along with the red eyes, the tear filled eyes, the puffy eyes. Those purple glasses, can hide a lot.
I left Dr. JoRo to head back to check in with Katie. I sat in the parking lot before I left Dr. JoRo to gather my thoughts, first though. Then I had a mad texting freak out session with our favorite lovie. I think I wrote things like how lame and stupid it was that people think that because you died, I will go on to do amazing things. Like this is my job and purpose now, because you are dead. And who is the asshole that decided you had to DIE, for me to do these things?? I said things like if you had survived, I would have done even more amazing things. I wouldn’t have just been a mom, whose kid got cancer, who lucked out, and they survived, and then they just went on with their lives. I would have fought and fought and fought even harder, until a cure was found. With you here, on this earth, fighting with me. I think went on to say that this world is full of stupid, ignorant, and INCONSIDERATE, people everywhere and the next time I ran into one, I was going to punch them. And then I said I was going to move to Iceland. Alone. Where I don’t have to deal with asshole people who give you fake smiles, like they care. I have a radar for fake smiles, you know. And no tolerance for them.
I ended up getting talked down off the ledge. As always. The one person in my life, that can do this for me. I know you know why, Ro. You always have. But than I asked for a question to be answered. Because you know, my questions are always never-ending. I wanted our lovie to tell me why you had to die, for me to go on and fight this fucking fight. Our lovie told me, there would never be an answer for your death because it shouldn’t have happened. I sighed. A tear slid down my cheek. I know this. But I still struggle with this question, everyday. You know what I wish? That I were a really, really, stupid, ignorant person, who didn’t think about questions. Who just accepted answers. How blissful would it be to live a dumb life, because you just didn’t know any other way? Surely, it would be less painful? Not to question everything. So many questions that you are constantly feeling like you are trying to climb walls that don’t exist, only to never get to the top, and the walls leave your fingers bloody, shredded, black and blue. Fucking Bullshit.
It’s 11:11. I stared at the clock and said over and over again, ” I hope you are safe. I hope you are safe. I hope you are safe. I hope you are safe. I hope you are safe. I hope you are safe. I hope you are safe. I hope you are safe. I hope you are safe. I hope you know I love you. I hope you know I’m sorry. I hope you know I wish it were me. I am sorry. I am sorry. I am so sorry. I am so, so, sorry for not saving you. I’m so sorry, I broke my promise to you.
And now I have to go, Ro. Because 6 months ago, at this time, we were cuddling up together while you were leaving this world. And I was listening to the sound of you breathing, while the oxygen blew next to your face. While Fernanda sang you Twinkle Twinkle Little Star but she didn’t know the words, so she had to Google them. Thank Ro, for fucking Google. Not God. Always Ro.
I love you. I’m sorry. I miss you so much that it feels like 6 years that we have been apart, not 6 months. I hope you are safe my little not spicy, monkey boy. Sweet dreams, Ro baby.
xoxo
ROCKSTAR RONAN 
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