Ronan. I survived our first Sucksgiving, without you. You know how I did it? I have no clue as the entire day was painful and sad. You know what else is totally messed up? That we took a holiday and celebrated it exactly the way we wanted to. There was no pressure of doing something we didn’t want to do. We stayed home. We picked up Chinese Food. I made Macy wear a wig all day with me and I wore some ridiculous outfit/hat/glasses to get me through the day. To hide my tears. We had some sweet friends stop by. They knew how hard the holiday was going to be, but they wanted us to know they were there for us. They brought by pies. And their kids. And provided lots of hugs, laughs, tears, and acknowledgment that you were missing…. and it was obvious. We ate. We talked. We had a mini dance party. We were quiet. We let the kids hit a piñata. Nobody prayed and talked about things we were thankful for. We lit things on fire. At one point it looked like a scene from Lord of the Flies in our backyard. There were no expectations. It was survival only. Everybody knew that we had decided on Thanksgiving, that we had nothing to be thankful for. Woody and I both decided that. Together. It was our one day, to say fuck everything. Because every other day, we are fiercely reminding ourselves what it is we DO have to be thankful for, just to subside the pain of not having you anymore, Ro. Sometimes it helps. Sometimes it doesn’t. I hope it isn’t always this exhausting. But for now, it is. I am really glad that this holiday, is over for now. You know what else, Ro. It wasn’t actually that holiday that was hardest for me. It was the day after. The day after Sucksgiving when I was scrubbing the island in the middle of our kitchen and I felt like I was sucker punched in the middle of a “normal,” day. Tears sprang for no particular reason, other than the reality that I now live with. Your death which still does not seem real to me. I looked around our kitchen. I sat and waited to hear your voice. I begged for somebody to please tell me this is not my life. I beg for this a thousand times a day.
I’m not really sure what I’m doing at this point. Sometimes I feel so strong. Other times I feel so weak. I’m mostly just sad. Everywhere I look I am surrounded by other people’s pain and sadness. Some days I feel like we are all running around like chickens with our heads cut off as it feels as if our family just doesn’t know what to do without you. I swear Liam and Quinn look for you just as much as I do. Your absence if felt everywhere. I’m not sure how to get through this. This week I guess I am just trying to stay afloat. I am assuming a lot of this has to do with the holiday season approaching. Everyone is happy. Christmas music all around. People buzzing around shopping, shopping, shopping as if that it what the Christmas spirit is truly about. It leaves me confused. And scared. And sad. Was I like all of those people before all of this? I don’t really remember my life, before losing you to be honest with you. I don’t think I was. I have proof I wasn’t. I used to write about you all the time when you were alive and healthy. I used to say things like how everyday with you, felt like Christmas to me, because it did. You were our best Christmas gift, everyday. And it wasn’t just me who felt this way, Ronan. Your daddy and brothers felt this way too. You made everything complete and perfect in our family. You were the missing link. And how do you go from having all the pieces fall into place to having them all ripped away? How do you survive that? I wish I knew the answer to that, Ronan. I am here, trying to figure it out but it mostly leaves me feeling like I am a 5-year-old, sitting in a mud puddle, crying, with rain pouring down on me and I am unable to get up because I am too stuck in the mud. That is the nice version of how I feel.
The things I’ve had to deal with this past week make me want to throw up. Just life stuff in general that I don’t have the tools to deal with anymore. How can I possibly be expected to deal with normal things that normal people go through that are considered “problems?” I can’t. I don’t want to. I don’t have the energy. Or the patience. Because I no longer see the world the same. I’m am no longer like everyone else which in turn just leaves me feeling totally alienated and alone. I choose to withdraw. I choose to be selfish. At this point in my life, I am just trying to survive this and figure out how I am not going to die from the pain. I don’t want to be inspiring. When people tell me that, it floors me. How can I possibly be inspiring when all I’m trying to do is to simply make it through the day? I don’t remember what your daddy said to me tonight, in the bathroom when I was washing my face but I looked at him and said, “Do you think I like doing any of this? Because I don’t. I don’t want to share Ronan with anyone. I want to keep him all to myself but I can’t do that. Things have to change and I made him a promise.” Do you know what the easy answer would be to all of this Ronan? To quit. To pack it up. I know I could talk your Daddy into moving away from here. To some other town. A quiet town where I could stop all this writing. Where I could stop all this fighting for you. Where we could disappear and reappear as just a normal family of 4. Where nobody knew about you. Where we could have 3 more babies. Where we could start over. It could easily be a reality. To run away. To try to run away from the pain. That would be the easy way out. But I won’t do it, Ronan. I don’t care how hard this gets. I won’t ever stop fighting for you. For our family whom believes in you so much. I couldn’t live with myself. I will stay here and fight for you for the rest of my life. I don’t care how many people I piss off in the process. You are my fuel and my fire. You are my passion, my heart, and my soul. I will give you everything I’ve got until things change in a major way. I’ve got nothing left to lose when I’ve already lost the thing which is most precious to a mother. Her child. But not only a child. My Ronan.
Tonight, I went for a really long, dark, late at night run. Mostly out of anger. And hurt. Mostly out of hurt, which turns into anger because anger is much easier to access, than sadness. All I want is for everyone to be on the same page as “Team Maya.” Turns out a lot of people, are not. And I have to learn to be o.k. with that. But it’s still hard. I ran far and had to have your daddy come and pick me up after mile 10. I thought about things. I mostly tried to picture what it must be like for my friends to be outsiders looking in on all of this. I tried to listen to the words I’ve heard and I tried to tell myself it is only coming from a place of love and concern. I tried to rationalize with myself and the things that were racing through my mind. It must be scary to be on the outside looking in.Why do so many people think they have a clue what this is like for me? For us? Why do so many people have an opinion on the way I am handling this? Am I hurting too much? Is that even possible? Am I making that poor of choices? I guess. I confess. My poor choices include being sad. Being angry. Avoiding old friends. Making new friends. Avoiding all friends. Venting to the people closest to me. Running at night. The whole weekend of death. Looking for distractions like helping others. Being honest. Writing this blog. Being bratty. Being pissed at the world. Throwing pity parties. I did take a rock that one time and cut my arm just to see if I was capable of feeling pain. I didn’t feel a thing. Should I be decorating the Christmas tree, baking cookies, while singing along to Christmas Carols? How the fuck isn’t everyone just proud of me that I am being somewhat productive? Isn’t it enough that I’m not at the local Tavern, drinking my life away? I’m pretty fucking proud of myself for not going down that path. Actually, I think I’m pretty fucking awesome for that. Or I could be totally addicted to all the meds that I was on before. But I stopped taking them. Cold Turkey. Totally dangerous. Bloody hell. Maybe I’d fit better into the “Maya Mold,” if I would just play by the rules and shut the hell up and stop using the fuck word so much. Has anybody seen my apron? The casserole is ready!! Maybe I should just pretend to be a little bit sad and not so sad that I am scaring people. Or maybe I should get back on my meds and then” go away,” to an institution for month so I can reflect on this “amazing journey,” write a book, and then come out “happy,” again. What a crock of shit. What a crock of fucking shit that anybody who has not been through this thinks they are entitled to a fucking opinion about this. It is easy to have your opinions when you get to go back to your life and you have never had to kiss the Urn that your baby is in now because they died of cancer. It must be a very nice throne to sit on. It must be a very nice glass house, to live in.
Ronan baby. You know how much I miss you. You know how sorry I am. But most of all, you know how much I love you. I’m trying to let our love get me through this, but some days it’s harder than others. Some weeks, it’s harder than others. The one thing I know about you though is no matter how scary this all gets, you will never stop believing in me. You will never stop trusting me. You will never give up on me. Because of that, I will never be without you.
G’nite baby. I miss you. I love you. I hope you are safe.