Ronan. This time of the year is tough for me. I’m having a major mental road block in my head over every single thing that I am trying to get done. Shopping for holiday gifts, ordering holiday cards, deciding on what to pack for our trip when I still cannot believe that I do not get to pack a suitcase for you. The holiday card thing kills me the most. I don’t send them out personally anymore, but I do through your foundation. Try picking out a holiday card to design when you have a dead child. They all read, “Best Christmas Ever!” “Everything is Merry and Bright!” or my personal favorites, the one I would have sent out in my former life that simply says, “Happy Holidays!” which to me really reads, “We are perfect. Life is perfect. Everything is perfect, as it should be, and no child ever gets sick and dies from cancer!” Holy hell. It took me 3 days to pick out and design a simple fucking card. I put your picture of the front of it, giving the peace sign. I put a picture of the 4 of us, ugh, on the inside standing in front of your Star Wars Christmas Tree. Through my blinding tears, I managed to write my own happy version of our holiday card which consisted of something like, “Life without Ronan, is not wonderful. blahblahblahblah. But we are determined to make him proud. blahblahblahblah. Thank you for loving us and remembering what is truly important in life.” I wanted to end it by saying, “Fuck Cancer,” but I didn’t think my board members would approve of that so I held off. I will never be able to write a holiday card of fluff again. But I hope when people get that card and open it up they will understand a few simple things. From tragedy, can come good. From losing the most important thing that ever exists, your child, a family can survive the pain and turn it into doing good for others while falling apart at certain times, but not all the time. A family can stay together, hold each other up, and at the end of the day go to bed kissing each other, tucking each other in, telling their dead child goodnight with the promise that tomorrow, might just be an o.k. day.
Today was an o.k. day. It’s the little things though that can make my o.k. day all of a sudden, turn into a ugly cry sob fest in the car. That happened today. I was driving to my office, listening to Taylor Swift of course. Something about one of her lyrics, punched me in the gut. I felt like the wind was knocked out of me. I kept thinking, “No, no, no, no, no. I can’t believe I don’t have his lips to kiss anymore. I can’t believe I don’t have his hand to hold. I can’t believe I don’t get to hear his little laugh or watch the way this sparkly blue eyes light up when he laughs or is doing something naughty. Please, no. I need him back.” I sobbed in the car until I arrived at my destination. I kept it together after that for the rest of the day. I kept it together only because I had a ton of shit to get done and I did not keep it together over my weekend of, “I’m hiding in my bed and not coming out.” I made myself power through today because of the slacking off I did all weekend long.
So.. I KNEW my last blog post was going to cause a major uproar. Most of the comments were lovely, but some were not. I was told everything from, “Your blog is ugly and you are ugly!” to “You just lost another reader.” “Ronan is right where he should be, with our heavenly father. You need to accept that.” What do I say to those nasty comments? Nothing except for thank you. Thank you for being so small minded that you will no longer be reading this blog. I do not need small-minded people on here. I understand it takes a special kind of person, to stick with me. I learned that a lesson a long time ago. It takes the kind of person that can let my words outrage them, but still find it in there hearts to continue reading because they get the bigger picture of all of this. They get that this isn’t about my beliefs, their beliefs, religion, anger or my grief. They get that this is about things that are bigger than themselves and their lives. This is about a very special boy who did not deserve to get childhood cancer and die but he did and because of that, GOOD will come out of it. This is about a BOY with the most beautiful blue eyes who’s mother loved him in the most insanely, passionate way possible that losing him may make it seem as though she has gone mad sometimes, and rightfully so. If my opinions offend you so much that you can just walk away this blog, then so be it. But I hope you remember that it is not me you have walked away from, but him. And for you, I feel sorry. Yes, I rant and rave about everything on here because these are MY feelings and this is MY blog. I am so sorry my being truthful about the things I feel offend you so much that you feel the need to spew such words of hate towards me. I honestly feel like some of the people in this world would be much more comfortable with the way I am handling my grief if I were popping pills or drinking myself to death. I honestly think we as a society are more comfortable with people numbing their pain then actually be true to it. I don’t drink. I don’t do drugs. I don’t smoke. My vice is telling the truth about this pain, my pain without much of a filter. That is MY right as a grieving, heartbroken mother and a choice I have made. I am proud of myself for this choice and I know it is something Ronan is proud of as well. As Ronan’s mom, NOBODY knows what this feels like for me because you were never his mother. He was mine and he was taken away from me and he shouldn’t have been. I will NEVER accept that or come to PEACE with that. I will learn to live with that and that is as good as it is going to get. I do not hate the almighty God. I not hate people who pray. I love them. Why do you think those are the people in my life that I am closest to? I get strength from them. I get love from them. I embrace them and all they believe in as long as they are not telling me what I am doing or feeling, is wrong. I do not hate the power of prayer, but I do question it. I prayed for my son every single day along with thousands of other people day and night and my child still died. So of course I question it all now. Anybody that has a problem with that, well those are your issues, not mine. I’m the one who had the love of my life ripped away from me in the blink of an eye. I’m the one who had to kiss the cold lips of my dead child. I’m the one that had to bathe his dead body and watched as he was taken away on a mother fucking gurney. So not so lovely little blog readers who say they will no longer be reading, I say GOOD FUCKING RIDDONS. At the end of the day, I know who I am and I am not an ugly person. YOU DO NOT KNOW ME, personally. To know me is to love me. I know that. I am not perfect. I am far from it, but the bottom line is, I have a very good heart, I am an outstanding mother, and I WILL FIX this world of childhood cancer even with all of my anger that apparently I am not supposed to have because I should be over it by now. NEWSFLASH!! Grief does not have an expiration date!!! I am quite simply sick of hearing all of that get over it talk. I will never get over the life my child was robbed of. I will never get over life without him. I am a grieving mother who is trying her best to be honest and true to everything that I am questioning, exploring and feeling and I made the choice to share it with the world because I know that my voice, will change things for others. I am not holding a gun to your head and asking you to feel the same things or believe in the same things that I do. You don’t even know what I believe in, yet you are sure quick to sit back and judge away. I don’t understand what was so wrong about saying prayers and actions need to happen together because those are the two most powerful things in life. I am a realist. I know that prayers alone are not going to be what finds the CURE for childhood cancer. Or what keeps mentally ill gunmen out of our schools. That was the point of my last blog. How did you misconstrue that into something so ugly? I know why and deep down, you know why and I am going to leave it at that.
One last little thing. You know what else I hate more than anything? When people say, “Well, I prayed and I got my miracle.” As somehow, the thing you were praying for was more precious than my son, therefore your miracle was granted. That is so cold-hearted and mean. That is so selfish and sick. Think about the totally warped thing you are saying in your head, before you actually say it. As somehow, God picked you or your loved one because they were worth more than my Ronan or all these other kids out there who are dying or fighting terminal illnesses. You need to chickity check yo’ self before you wreck yo’ self. Thanks though for your unconditional love and support. Peace out Mo’ Fo’s. Have a nice life with that unicorn you ride on up in the sky.
Ronan. That was yesterday. This is today. I have a lot going on. I am having a lot of anxiety about Christmas morning and what it is going to feel like to sit there and watch your brothers in all their glory, unwrapping gifts when you are not there. I can’t stop thinking about Teddy’s family and the 7 other kids who died today from childhood cancer and what their holidays are going to feel like. I can’t stop thinking and hurting for all of those parents, siblings, friends, and relatives in Newtown. I walked into a store today and it was just like it was another normal day. Some really happy christmas song was on. It think it was the one about it being a holly, jolly christmas and the best time of the year. The song stopped me in my tracks. I felt like I was on that show, The Twilight Zone. I looked all around. Everyone was smiling, laughing, and the colors everywhere were so bright. Don’t they know about Ronan? Or Teddy? Well, surely they know about the shooting that just happened. Shouldn’t the world just stop for a little while? It all felt so wrong today. Shouldn’t we have a few days of silence and mourning as an entire county for a couple days. Shouldn’t we cancel Christmas this year? That feels like the right thing to do. The right thing to do does not feel like me finishing up my Christmas shopping. I didn’t. I abandoned my cart and aborted mission. I went to my car and bought my plane ticket for Teddy’s funeral instead. It’s January 6th. I made the decision last night to fly out to San Francisco to go. It’s the least I can do for Teddy and his family. Macy will go with me. My brave sweet friend who watched my child die, attended his funeral, and did not even hesitate to say yes to going to the funeral of another little boy, so I don’t have to go alone. That right there, is true love at it’s finest.
Alright, Ro. I’m getting off my soapbox for tonight. I’m sorry I had to vent. I have been holding all that in for a couple of days and I have been feeling like I am going to explode. That is my venting. Sorry it took over a majority of my writing to you. I hate when my anger interferes with that but I also know I can’t keep it bottled up inside. I miss you. I love you. I hope you are safe. Sweet dreams, baby doll.
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