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, too.
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. Just because I talk about some things I stand behind on here, I don’t expect you all to agree with me. Agree to disagree. I’m totally okay with that. It’s what makes us all unique and different as human beings, and we each have a right to this freedom.
This is what Planned Parenthood believes in:
All individuals have the right to make informed, independent decisions about sex, sexual health, and whether and when to have a child.
Everyone has the right to safe, high-quality, affordable health care—including the full range of reproductive health care.
Everyone has the right to comprehensive, age-appropriate, medically accurate sex education.
Commonsense policies that promote women’s health, increase access to affordable birth control, and protect the health of young people.
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: mind your own business.
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’m 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, spare me the sanctimonious bullshit about how “believing in abortion is a sin.” Because yes—I do believe in abortion. I believe in a woman’s right to make the most personal, private decision about her own body without interference from lawmakers, religious fanatics, or judgmental strangers who wouldn’t last a day in her shoes.
It is not a sin to choose yourself. It is not a sin to prioritize your mental health, your future, or your survival. What is a sin is trying to strip women of their humanity, dignity, and agency under the guise of morality. What is a sin is dragging us back to a time when we were expected to suffer in silence while men in power dictated the course of our lives.
I believe in Roe v. Wade. I believe in the generations of women who fought like hell to give us rights we should have never had to beg for in the first place. And I believe that we’re not done fighting—not by a long shot. We’re coming for every seat at every table, every law written without us in mind, and every attempt to control us.
So no—your opinion about what a woman “should” do with her body? Not welcome. Not relevant. Mind your own damn uterus.
Before the luncheon, Becca and I made an executive decision (because we’re so official now) to run down to the Capitol 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 she’ll get this bill passed and it will be placed in all of our schools, just as it should be. I cannot even begin to go into what I think about Cathi Herrod, the woman 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… but I can’t stop myself tonight. She pisses me off. She is clearly a pro-bullying, racist, homophobic, mean lady. I would really like to take her home and make her sit down and watch every single episode of Glee with us. I don’t even watch TV anymore, but I’d welcome her in for a little slumber party of sorts. We’d 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 Slurpee 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’re 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’s actually harming children—everywhere. All kids have a right to be protected. Childhood cancer is something to protest. Not a simple thing like people being who they are and being treated poorly for that. That is what’s wrong.
I think I’d 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’re fighting for—which, in the reality of this hell I live in now, just doesn’t matter.
Fighting so hard against people’s sexual orientation is so fucking stupid, 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 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 they’re more concerned about my son sitting next to another boy in school who maybe likes to wear pink and sing show tunes?
PRETTY SURE I’D BE MORE PISSED THAT MY SON HAS A DEAD BROTHER BECAUSE OF CANCER, YOU FUCKING MORON.
I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be pissed off that my son might make a really good friend—one 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 for it.
It’s called love.
And that is a beautiful thing no matter what shape or form.
I would have been so proud if my child decided he loved boys. How lucky would I have been?
I wish Ronan had been given the chance to grow up and figure that out for himself—if he loved boys, or girls, or maybe both.
I wish he’d had the time to explore that part of himself, surrounded by nothing but love and acceptance.
Every child deserves that.
He should’ve had that, too.
I think I’d like to go line Cathi’s driveway with a bunch of fake, bloody, beaten up, bald, dead—not dead, but hooked up to chemo poles—babies and kids. I think I could make her change her mind. Own up to her stupidity. 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’s 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 outside the lines at home.
You can’t take that away from me.
Ro baby—sorry for all my political rants. I didn’t mean to take time away from you.
Ending that now. Back to you, to me, to us.
That was yesterday.
This is today.
That was yesterday. This is today.
I’ve had a whirlwind of a week. I’ve been so productive, so positive, so good at channeling this anger into motivation… I knew I was going to crack. I kept it up all week long. I helped others. I begged some very important people for change. I fought the good fight. I showed up for your brothers—I took them hiking, running, spent real, intentional time with them. I went to their field day at school. I picked up the phone more when old friends called. None of this was easy.
I held it together until about 2:00 today. That’s when the tears started, and I couldn’t stop them.
Your daddy came home tonight. He walked through the door and found me standing in your brothers’ closet, frozen, clutching a tiny hanger, my hands shaking as I tried to pretend I was still functioning. But he saw it. The sheer terror in my eyes. The kind that never really leaves, just hides in quiet moments like this. He didn’t say a word—just wrapped his arms around me as I came undone. Again.
Your brothers had a baseball game tonight. I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t sit in those stands, cheering like I used to, pretending the world is still spinning the way it once did. Not without you. The weight of your absence hit me like a freight train and I collapsed before I even made it out the door. Add it to the ever-growing pile of mom guilt I carry now—the guilt that clings to everything I do and everything I can’t. It’s endless. It’s exhausting. And it’s always there.
Want to know one of the most fucked-up conversations I’ve had since you left this world?
It happened last night. Your daddy had just come back from a Radiohead concert. I stayed behind, curled up next to your brothers. It was late—around 11. We were lying in bed, not talking. Just existing beside each other in the quiet. And out of nowhere, he said, “I would let you kill me if it would bring him back.”
I didn’t flinch. I didn’t gasp. I didn’t cry. I just looked at him and said, “I would.”
He nodded. “I know.”
That was it. Nothing more needed to be said. And for something so wrong, so deeply disturbing, so fucking heavy—it was somehow… beautiful. In that twisted, grief-soaked moment, I felt the full force of his love for you. For me. He would give up his life if it meant ending my pain. And I would do the same for him without hesitation. Without question. That’s the depth of this agony. That’s the level of devastation we’re walking around with. The kind you can’t see from the outside, not when we’ve become so good at taping on smiles over our shattered hearts.
We miss you so fucking much. There are no words that will ever touch the ache of this. But if love could’ve saved you, you’d still be here. Whole. Ours. Forever.
Tomorrow is St. Paddy’s Day. A holiday I’ve always really loved. I don’t know if we’ll do anything for it, but I’m totally rocking one of my favorite tees. (Rude comments need not apply.) If you were alive, I’d have you in the kid-sized version. You would’ve killed it. I wore it the other day and some random dude told me I was too tall to be a leprechaun—but you, Ronan? You would’ve been the perfect size.
I love you. I’m going to try to settle my heart down tonight. Tricia came by and couldn’t even drag me out of bed to hike Camelback—and I never say no to that. But today? I did. I told her there was no way I could face the shiny, happy people of the world. Not today.
I know now when I need to tap out. I know when to take a day off from pretending I’m okay. I know when I need to give in to this pain. I can only do so much. And when the breakdown hits… I let it.
Your Margarita kept me laughing through the tears tonight. She always does. It’s not just surface-level laughing either—she really makes me laugh. Then she throws in some kind of jab, all ninja-like, that makes me feel halfway awesome. Or like a total jackass. Either way, she keeps me laughing through the grief. She’s a keeper. I think that R2-D2 you left in her yard was your way of saying that too. That was sweet of you, little dude. Thanks for that.
My eyes are burning. My heart is shredded.
I’m going to try and escape this world tonight with a movie—on this sad, stupid, fucking Friday night that I hate more than anything.
Because it’s another night without you.
I miss you. I love you. I hope you’re safe.
I’m so sorry.
xoxo
xoxo
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