Tag: Portland

I’m having a white party tomorrow. Do you think P Diddy would want to come?

Ronan. Do you know how I feel tonight? Hollow. Empty. I swear, it’s just one thing after another. I just had a Mother’s Day that no mother would ever want. All after your death day, your birthday/the day you were cremated (on your fucking birthday), Mother’s Day, and now tomorrow, is the day we had your fucking services, last year. May is a sick fucking joke. Next year, I am going to Iceland for May and living in a fucking igloo and ignoring May, all together. I came home from our trip, numb. I am totally numb again. How can I not be? I’m numb without the help of any anti-depressants. The one’s that everyone wanted to numb me with and still want to numb me with. I’m still here screaming that I don’t want to be numb. I will feel this, the way I am supposed to feel this and not by taking medications to help me not feel this. I want to feel this. I deserve to feel this pain. I am strong enough to handle it, no matter how much it hurts. I think my body is having a natural numbness physical reaction, all on it’s own. Because these dates, right after another, are just too much.

Mother’s Day was banned. Well, at least it was in my head. I let Liam and Quinn still think it was happening, because I don’t want to ruin everything for them. I took Mother’s Day and turned it into a day, all about them. I had a Liam and Quinn day and didn’t make a peep. I don’t think I even cried. See, I told you I was numb. We went to a Red Sox game, which they LOVED. We went and had a BBQ dinner at our friends’ house and they loved that just as much. We let our 4 kids run around and play with each other, but it still should have been 6. We sat with our friends into the night, talking normal talk and cancer talk. That’s the way it will always be. But it was easier with these friends, to be around them on Mother’s Day. I took comfort in all of our sadness on this “Happy Day,” of the year. I sat and thought a lot about your Fairy RoMo. I texted her it was indeed not Mother’s Day but Fairy RoMo day instead! I told her how you would have went craaaaazy over her Goldilocks hair and I know she would have loved you like her own. I am changing Mother’s Day to Fairy RoMo day. Because the love/kindness/support/and heart of your Fairy RoMo should be celebrated on this day. So it was, for her. I let my thoughts soften a bit while thinking about all the beauty that just exudes out of her, all the time. Like there is just sparkly glitter falling from the sky, when she is near. That’s how I feel anyway. It makes me feel peaceful, happy and inspired. There is that lucky world again, Ro. I am so lucky, to have her in our lives. Thanks for bringing us to each other. Another one of your little gifts, I know.

We made it home now and all I want to is run screaming back to Maine. Preferably Cape Elizabeth where I totally left my broken heart. I could see my broken heart mending there, quite well. You know what I felt while we were there, besides sad? Peaceful, calm, quiet, relaxed… I felt the pieces of me, that I miss so much. Your brothers felt it too. For such an awful reason to go away, Ro baby, it was the best place we could have possibly went. Maine and Cape Cod. Your brothers were so in their element there. They were so happy and carefree. They were so sweet and we spent so much time, outdoors playing in the beach, on rocks, on logs, in the water, in the woods, getting lost with each other and slipping into their childhood that they should know. The only childhood they should know where their baby brother, does not get cancer and die. It should have been the 5 of us there, Ronan. My heart is ripped to shreds that it is not and never will be again. But your brothers, they are happy. I guess that means your daddy and I are doing a good job, despite all of this. I don’t know how, but we just keep skipping along, not missing a beat because now, only their happiness is what matters to me. Mine can wait. I can put mine on hold, forever. Liam and Quinn will not be robbed of anymore happiness. They are too good of boys to have anymore hurt come a long. So, Ro… I still cry in front of them. But not as often. I laugh more with them and hide all the guilt that washes over me when I do. Guilt that they do not need to see or hear about. Adult guilt that I hope they never have to know about, in this way. Your dead child guilt where everything you do feels wrong… even telling another little boy at a hospital how brave he is while you are in visiting him. FUCK. Did I really just tell him he was brave. OH MY GOD. I only used to tell Ronan that. I just betrayed, Ronan. Fuck. I have to leave. I do. Tears pouring. Ronan. I’m sorry. You were the bravest little boy, I’ve ever known. I’m sorry if that hurt your feelings. I tell you thinks like this all the time because the guilt never goes away. It’s heavy to carry but that’s just the way it is. Once your child dies, you don’t stop taking care of them. It just continues on in a different form. I still have 3 kids to take care of. Why else would I be doing your Foundation, Ro? My number one reason is it is my way of still being your mom, still taking care of you, and still doing a really good job at it. A job that is going to be done, so well due to how much I love you and you love me. This is why your foundation will change things. Because our love is powerful enough to do so and because I promised to fight for these kids and families until things start to get better. Like a freaking CURE for Neuroblastoma. Let’s start with that. That is what we are going to do with our passion, drive, energy and love. We are going to help these doctors but we are also going to help these families. No family should feel so alone in this, the way we did. It was wrong, wrong, wrong. I have a big list of things that need to be fixed. I’ve been working on that list with Dr. JoRo. We will get to each and every thing, one by one so that maybe a family will not just feel like another number. They deserve so much more than that.

Tomorrow is May 15th. The day we had your services last year and I remember NOTHING about it. I think I smiled a lot. I think I did the “Thank you for coming.” I think I thought I was floating on air and I probably was. I wore white. Everyone did. So for tomorrow, it only makes sense to wear all white again. I’ll do this, on this day, every year for the rest of my life. I’m having my own White Party and P Diddy is not invited. Unless he wants to donate a fuckton of money to Ronan so we can start to put our master plan into place. The master plan starts soon. I’m running with it because I have to. Because it is a good idea. Because it is so needed. So, P Diddy, you can come to my White Party tomorrow but be prepared to bring your big fat checkbook. I only need about 10 million dollars. My White Party might suck compared to the fancy one’s you throw every year. With all your fancy people, cars, clothes, etc…. My white party is just going to be me and my son’s Urn. We might have a dance party together. He loved to have dance parties. My party will probably involve tears, but they will be the saddest tears you’ve ever seen for the most beautiful little boy who ever lived. They don’t all have to be sad, they could be happy ones too because I think you might come to the conclusion that my White Party kicks the shit out of yours just for the cause alone. You know, just trying to save some kids’ lives. Cancer Kids who live right here, in the U.S.A. We’ve got a lot of problems of our own, right here. I wish you celeb types would stop and look around here. You could help save so many of these babies who don’t even know how to fight, but they are the strongest fighters I’ve ever seen in my life. They are the true heroes, warriors, fighters. They deserve to have a strong voice to start stepping up and helping them. They deserve to have a chance at growing up. I don’t want anymore families to go through what we have gone through. What we have lost which is everything. Ronan was EVERYTHING to our entire family, not just me. He was everything to Woody, Liam and Quinn. I don’t want what happened to us, to happen to anyone else which is why people like P Diddy need to start helping. People listen to celebs.They need to start focusing on Childhood Cancer. It is worth fighting for with everything you have. Because what if it were your child? Wouldn’t you want to know, the best of everything was out there and the survival rates had improved?? Of course you would but this takes work, money, research, education, and dedication. All of those things seem so easily accessible when you look at these kids whom you are fighting for. Each and every one of them, are worth it and they need to stop being overlooked.

Yeah. That would be my rant and rave for the night. (shout out to AMBIEN) which I have not taken in weeks, but tonight, coming home to your empty bed about threw me over the edge. I needed a night to peace out. So, tomorrow is an all white day for me. That’s what I’m doing. I also might just take Ro’s Urn out with me everywhere I go. I’m kinda serious about that. I do need to invest in that baby Bjorn. Grocery store, here we come!!!

G’nite Ro baby. I miss you. I love you. I hope you are safe. I’ve come to the conclusion that you were just too perfect and beautiful for this world, so you are someplace so much better… just waiting for me. I’ll see you when it’s my time. I love you, little man.

xoxo

I don’t need words. I just miss you.

Ronan. Yesterday went a little something like this: May 8th, the eve before you passed away. We went into town. It was raining cats and dogs. We all decided it was a good idea to see a movie so into the dark theatre we went. I was fidgety. I was anxious. I kept squirming in my seat. I ate a little popcorn. I had a huge wave of guilt wash over me, sitting in that movie theater, watching “The Avengers,” which is a movie you would have loved. Your daddy looked at me and said, “You can go. Go get a pedicure or something.” He didn’t have to say it twice. I up and bolted before we were even 10 minutes into the movie. I could not have run out of that theatre, fast enough. Out into the pouring down rain of the streets of Portland, Maine, was where I needed to be. Alone. I didn’t have an umbrella. I didn’t care. I just started walking, not knowing where I was, or what I was doing. I walked for a good 15 minutes before I finally found some random salon where I could soak my troubles away. I ran in the doors. “Do you do mani/pedis?” asking like my life depended on it. “We do.” the glossy girl behind the counter said to me. I was so thankful that they had an appointment open.

As I was sitting and waiting, a nice girl was waiting next to me. The conversation started because she was dying over the rain boots I was wearing. You know the ones. Those badass Hunter Wedge heel Rain Boots/my obsession that I never get to wear. I wore them yesterday and whenever I do, I have women stopping to ask me about them. She wanted to know where I got them. I told her. I also told her how excited I was to wear them, because I never get to. She asked where I was from and I told her. Then came the next question. “What are you doing here?” My eyes fell to the floor and the tears starting welling up. “Ummmm…. I stumbled over my words. Somehow I found them, but not without sobbing and apologizing everywhere. I barely got the words out of my mouth and this stranger started bawling too. She got up to give me a hug and told me how sorry she was. We ended up going back to the pedicure area together where we talked all about you. The poor girl that was doing my pedi was quiet as she listened and when I looked down, she too had tears pouring down her cheeks. She didn’t say much for a while. I not only noticed her tears, but the pretty purple shirt she was wearing. Of course it was purple. She finally looked up at me and told me all about her best friend, who had bone cancer. How she watched her struggle through it and how she was leaving for San Diego tomorrow, to go and visit her. I started crying harder. What is it about pedi/mani places, that I always end up crying the hardest? I guess I really miss you when I am there. I really miss you and how I would take you to get your toes painted sparkly and you were always so exited to show everyone at PCH. Sparkly toes for the most sparkly boy.

After my pedi of tears, I met back up with your Daddy and brothers. We went to grab some dinner at this place the girls in the salon told me about called, “Silly’s.” And silly it was. In the best way possible. You would have gone crazy over it. Quinn went crazy over the purple kool-aid that they just happened to be serving that day. Liam went crazy over the deck of cards they had in the special lunchbox on the table. Your daddy went crazy over the chocolate milkshake. I went crazy over the fried pickles. Fried pickles, Ro. Can you believe that one? You would have went crazy over them, with me. Your daddy pointed to a table of two girls that looked to be in high school. They were sitting at a table together, playing cards, drinking cokes. Your daddy kept saying, “This is totally a place you and Salina would have come and hung out. You two are such Jacksons.” (his word for silly) I smiled. I watched the two girls at their table. They reminded me of my youth. With my childhood bestie, Salina, and the world of complete and utter silliness that we created and always lived in. The two girls didn’t look silly though. They looked serious. Like the two of them lived in a world, where they were fighting for everything they had; but they were doing it together. It made me ache for my youth when everything was so uncomplicated and easy. Well, compared to now. I know the world of teenaged drama all too well. I remember the “problems,” I had back then. I look back now and know that they actually weren’t problems at all. They were lessons learned and part of growing up. I am thankful for all of them. As we finished up our food, your daddy took Quinn across the street to get some snacks. The waitress brought out check. I told her I would like to pay for the girls’ sitting across from us, as well, so to please put whatever they had, on our tab. She looked at me, wide-eyed. “Do you know them?” I just quietly told her I did not. I told her to give them 2 of your F U Cancer bracelets for me as well. She smiled and said she was sure they would be grateful. What I really hope is that they will just remember this small act of kindness and do something else nice, for somebody else someday, just because.

We all came home, tired from the days events. I tried to lay down but it was early. I don’t remember what happened next. The time you passed away, was getting closer and closer. You want to know something, Ro. I don’t know the exact time you died. I’ve been too scared to look at your death certificate. That makes this all too real. I think it was around 3:25 a.m. I know what time it was, that I sent my one and only text message, after you left to your Mr. Sparkly Eyes. It was 3:32 a.m. It simply said two words. “He’s gone.” 2 words, but so earth shattering. Two words, but how could there have been more? 2 words were all I needed because any other words I had, would not touch the fact that you had left this world. You leaving this world was enough to dim every single star in the sky for that night. I know the sky was covered in a blanket of black.

Your daddy lit a candle for you last night. Everyone fell asleep. I did not. I watched the candle flicker. I went in and out of sleep. 1 a.m. 2:30 a.m. 3:00 a.m. and I was wide awake.  3:32 a.m. came. I sent my only text message, once again, to our Mr. Sparkly Eyes.

Except exactly one year later. This time it read:

Fuc. (fuck you cancer)

I love you.
He loves you.

Always.

I cried. I fell asleep for a couple of hours. I had the most vivid dream about being back at PCH. You were dead. Dr. Adams was there with me. She was dressed in all purple and looked so stunning. She held me like a child and I just told her over and over how I wished I had not taken you to Dr. K. The rest of my dream just consisted of the both of us sobbing and I remember her purple dress being so bright and pretty. I woke up to my phone chirping like a bird alerting me of a text message from your lovie at around 5 a.m. I read it, cried again and fell back asleep until my phone rang around 8 a.m. I threw on my Uggs, warm sweater and ran outside to pick up the phone for the only person I knew I would be talking to, today. Your Sparkly. I ran out into the cold, fog, and drizzly rain. Of course the weather is this way, today. Of course it is.

“Hi.” I was already crying

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” the talking stopped and I just listened to your Sparkly cry.

I went quiet on my end and we sat there this way, on the phone for what felt like an eternity. Crying. Sobbing. What else could be said? No words were even necessary.

I babbled out a lot of “I don’t understand,” over and over. I babbled out a lot of why’s. Why him? “I’ll never understand this.”

I asked him, “How am I supposed to do, today?” in between my tears.

He said, “Don’t. Don’t do today. Spend the day in bed. Have a fuck it all day because this is fucking bullshit and there is no explanation.”

I told him I couldn’t. I couldn’t do that to Liam and Quinn.

“O.k. then. Go play in the sand. Do something that Ro would have loved to do. Who cares if it is raining. It should be raining. It should be raining, everywhere.”

“Alright. I will do my best.”

” I will check in on you later, o.k.?

“O.k.” I said.

“My heart is broken for you. I’m sorry.”

I crawled back into bed for a couple of hours. I knew I had a long day ahead of me and I had already felt like I had run a marathon.

I’m ending this right here, Ro. I’m tired. I don’t know if I can write much more about all the went on today. I will try, later.

I love you. I miss you. I hope you are safe. I am so sorry, baby doll.

xoxo

Self control vs Self destruction. And Happy Fucking New Year.

Ronan. Happy Fucking New Year. No. There will never be anything “Happy,” about it again. This is how I know I will never be normal again. This is how I know, I will continue to live in Zombieland. Because everything stings so much that I can’t be among the living. Everyone is so busy being happy. It’s as if they have all forgotten about you. But what do I expect? For everybody to take this year off, from celebrating their beautiful lives? For the ball not to drop in New York City? Exactly. I told you life goes on for others.

We are back home and I’ll admit it, I’m acting like a brat. We got home on the night of our 10 year anniversary and I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t fake it at all. The happiness that I am supposed to feel. I am thankful….. For as much as I can be. But feeling happy just does not exist. Your daddy didn’t ask much, but the little he asked, I couldn’t do. All he wanted was some acknowledgment that our 10 years was a big deal. I gave him my snarky commentary about why the fuck does everyone make such a big deal about 10 years, when every year should be just as sacred and valued. I begged him to please just skip over the 10 years and next year we could do something nice. I don’t want to celebrate anything when everything feels so wrong. He told me he had a gift for me which made me lose it even more as I specifically told him there was nothing I wanted. He said he knew, but it was something he wanted me to have anyway. I pretty purple amethyst ring. I told him to take it back. He told me he wanted me to know how much he loved me. I begged and pleaded with him to take it away and told him I didn’t need things to know how much he loved me. That I already knew and would always know. He insisted that you would love for me to have it and that you would have told me how “cute,” I looked wearing it. I just laid in bed and sobbed while I kept one eye on your Urn. I made him take the ring away and told him I wasn’t worthy of pretty things because I let you die. I fell asleep in a puddle of my own tears. I had spent the day being so proud of myself for the stupidest things that I used to be able to do, in my sleep. I got your brothers from Portland to Phoenix, safe and sound, all by myself. I checked in our luggage. We had dinner at the airport. We made it through security, to our flight, and home. This is a big thing to accomplish, when you have a dead child. Traveling with 2, not 3 little guys was such a mental head game, that I really don’t know how I did it. But I did and I of course, did a fucking good job. Gold star for me. After we landed in Phoenix, I listened to myself, telling myself in my head, what a good job I had done. Then I went to, are you FUCKING kidding me? This is something that you now get to be proud of? Something you used to be able to do in your sleep? What kind of fuckery is this? Well, I’ll tell you. It’s the most fucking fucked kind of fuckery that exists. It is my life now.

I ran around all day Friday, catching up on things and being pissed off that I was wearing a strapless dress because it was hot enough in January, to do so. Bloody hell. Where was my rainy gloomy weather that is so able to explain how I feel, without me having to say a word? Where were my rain boots and dirty, muddy puddles of tears? The tears that I was able to take a break from crying because the weather was able to cry for me just for a bit so I let it. They were back in Washington, that’s where. So, I spent all Friday, running about being blinded by the fake plastic trees of this world that I feel like kicking the shit out of. Where I have to put on my fake, sunny smile because that’s what the weather wants me to do but Ro, I don’t want to do it. I want to go and live in my underground world with all the other bereaved parents of the world where happiness and sunshine no longer exist. I don’t want to have to listen to the others in the world as they complain about their bad days which include things like getting a flat tire or their nanny being sick. When I hear these things it is all I can do to not cover my ears and drop down into the fetal position. Maybe I should just start doing that. I wonder how different this world would be if we all acted the way we felt really felt instead of hiding everything behind our lipgloss and dark sunglasses. I’ll bet it would be a complete mess but at least it would be a TRUE complete mess and not so fake and insincere. I was also having some major mom guilt on Friday so one of my errands included going to the grocery store. You know how much I hate this now, Ro. I freeze up, freak out, and panic. I made myself do it because the thought of your brothers living off of processed food any longer is destroying me. I don’t cook anymore, unless you count cereal, frozen pizza, fruit or veggies. Your daddy has taken over the majority of the cooking. It is something that I used to live for back in the days when you were here and you were my favorite little helper. The two of us, cooking together, was my heaven. I wanted to make your daddy feel good by coming home to a home cooked meal, like he used to. The one he deserves to come home to, every night. I made it half way through my shopping, panicked over some mom who was pushing her little boy in the cart and almost abandoned all of my groceries to bolt for my car. I took a deep breath and stopped myself from doing so. I had to talk myself through every next step in order to get to finish up the shopping and get to the checkout line. I couldn’t get out of there, fast enough. I came home and whipped up dinner, without a recipe or anything. Just from memory only. The one that does not really exist anymore. I made your daddy and brothers, homemade Shepard’s Pie. Your daddy said it was the best one I had ever made and wanted to know what I had done differently. I wanted to tell him how the only thing I did differently was cry the entire time I was making it because I couldn’t stop thinking about how you wouldn’t be there, to eat it with us. Sitting down, at our dinner table with your seat, empty is also something that just kills me. So, I may have made dinner, but I couldn’t get out of the house fast enough for the plans I had made a few days in advance.

I spent Friday night with some girls which I never take the time to do anymore either. We didn’t go out, but rather stayed in, instead. I picked up Mandy Bee and we headed out to Kristi’s house for a special night which of course was inspired by you. The best nights, always are. I know you were there, I know you saw and that’s all I’m saying about our night, for now. It was a true rock and roll night, in the most innocent way possible. It was a night that for as painful as it was, I actually felt myself having fun. Thank you, K…. for such a wonderful night. I don’t get those very often anymore. It was nice to let everything slide away for a bit and get lost in a world of beauty parlors, some good reality T.V. laughs, and a little blood, too;) And Mizpah, Mandy Bee. Thank you. I love you my crazy stalker bestie. Thank you for not being afraid of the dark with me. No matter how scary it gets. And for breaking down my door when I won’t pick up the phone, the lights are off, the doors are barricaded shut but you somehow manage to break them down anyway. I know you didn’t know him, but how I wish you would have. Thank you for loving him like you did.

I don’t know what happened today except for we all slept in and that seemed to throw everything off. I woke up, did the big breakfast thing with your daddy and brothers, threw up, showered, and ran out to get your daddy’s car washed just to get out of the fucking house full of loud T.V. and noise. I ran to Smart and Final to stock up your brothers drinks for their school lunches. I had a panic attack in the parking lot and had the urge to do something really self-destructive. Anything. I seriously contemplated driving to the nearest bar to get shit faced drunk. And I don’t even drink, Ronan. But I wanted something, anything, to make this pain go away even if just for a short amount of time. I wanted a break or to feel something differently, than this. Anything. I sat, cried, almost did…..but did not. Self destruct or self control? Today, self-control won. I am scared for the day that it will not. I came home exhausted from the hour I spent crying, fell into bed and drifted in and out of sleep for the next 4 hours. I hid in our bed, until the bright sun disappeared and I had enough of dreaming the dreams where all I can seem to do, is cry and scream in them. I feel like I live in between two worlds. One of real reality and one of fake reality. They both suck and I can’t win either way. The dreams I dream of always involve watching myself cry due to this nightmare. Happiness does not exist, anywhere without you, Ronan. At least not for me…. not even in my dreams.

Alright baby boy. This is enough for tonight. I wish I had something happier to say… an ounce of hope to give you…. a glimmer of the happiness that I hope to one day be able to feel again. But this is me, today. This is the best I can do. I guess just be proud that I am here and I didn’t drive off the cliff that I made up in my head today. I love you so much. I miss you every second of every day. I hope you are safe.

xoxo

Dear Lovely Little Blog Readers,

Thank you. For sticking with me. For hugging your kids tighter. For appreciating everything in your life, so much more than you did before you knew Ronan and our story. Thank you for helping me keep him alive by thinking about him, loving him, and letting him make you all better people. It keeps me going even during my darkest hours. I wish you all only health and happiness in 2012. Because we all know if health exists, then happiness does too. I love you. Ronan loves you. Please be safe! No drinking and driving!

xoxo

Hell is empty and all the Devils are here

Ronan. Cancer is stupid. And people are stupid. I try to ignore the stupid people of the world the best I can but sometimes they get under my skin. I try not to let them but as it turns out, I’m still human. For as dead as I feel I guess I’m really not because I am still able to feel. I wish I really were a dead zombie. Then I wouldn’t be bothered by these stupid, ignorant people. I would just rip their hearts out and eat them and then maybe they would be able to feel a quarter of the pain that I feel on a daily basis. Only in Zombieland, right buddy. Sometimes the stupid people of the world say stupid things like, “You know, there are other mothers out their who have lost children. You’re not the only one.” My reply is, “Really? No shit, asshole.” Please hold on a minute while I punch you in the throat. It is as if they are trying to compare my pain, to somebody else’s. Or justify it by saying there is someone else out there, who has it worse. I am not ignorant. I am aware of the other people out there who have lost their children. But guess what? They didn’t have a Ronan. So there is no comparing or justifying. You were mine and therefore, nobody else knows what this is like. I don’t care if they too, have lost a child. This pain is my own, this sadness is my own, this experience is my own. I would never tell another parent, “Oh, I know exactly how you feel.” Because I don’t. I understand some aspects of it. I can relate but to each his own. I am learning to be respectful of that for others going through this process. I’m still new at this game but this is something that I have learned. Unless you had a Ronan, you don’t fully know.

I survived Christmas? I survived Christmas. It was brutal. I took some time in the morning, before I got up and just cried for you. After that, I was able to go downstairs to watch your brothers open gifts and enjoy Christmas the way 8 year olds should. It was as nice as it could possibly be. All that mattered is I was able to get out of bed and watch as your brothers smiled, giggled, and laughed. I lasted a couple of hours but then the pain became too much and I had to retreat up to my old bedroom where you and I spent all last summer cuddling and whispering secrets to each other. I passed out for a few hours. I dreamed of you. This is the second time in a month that I have seen you in my dreams. They are never pleasant and it is always the same theme. You looking at me. I’m trying to save you, but I can’t. I know you are dying, but you always look peaceful. Thanks for that, little man. My heart was extra heavy on Christmas for another mama. Another mama who wrote to me a few days before Christmas to tell me thank you. I was sick to my stomach after her email. I don’t want a thank you from another mama because her baby girl died of Neuroblastoma. She died on December 7th, this year. This mama told me it was because of what I had written about you after you passed away, that she was able to tell her Charlotte all the things she wanted to say, right before she died. I don’t remember what I wrote about you and I don’t want to know. I guess I am glad it helped somebody else although I wish I didn’t have to. I wish I could give her Charlotte back. I told her I was sorry. I wish I had some wise words for her. I didn’t. Sorry was the best I could do. She told me how she just wants to be with Charlotte. I told her I knew. Oh, how I know.

Yesterday, I spent the day in Portland with your daddy. You know how Portland is one of my favorite cities. It was a nice day. We grabbed lunch. I ate a bit of soup but that was all I could manage to keep down. We talked. But not about normal things anymore. Our talk revolved around everything cancer. I played the game that I am so good at playing now which is we didn’t choose the right treatment. If we did, Ronan would still be here. Should we have done this? Should we have done that? We picked the wrong treatment for him. He insists that we did not. He insists the outcome would have been the same, no matter what. I still don’t believe him. But I guess I have little credibility due to being the irrational broken-hearted mama. I don’t need credibility though. I just need someone to figure out this fucking disease. I need the doctors to get a clue as to what it is they are doing so little kids don’t have to sit around playing russian roulette. I’m not stopping until this changes Ro. I promised you that. After the talk about you we moved on to other fun things like Coach Bemis. The coach in AZ who has Stage IV lung cancer and he is NOT a smoker. We moved on to Katie who is the beautiful 15-year-old girl with Rhabdomyosarcoma. We talked about Charlotte, Will, Dr. Sholler, Dr. Mosse, etc….. We will never be the normal couple again who goes to lunch and talks about the weather. We both agreed that this world is fucked. But we left there, holding hands and we’re not letting go. We know what we have to do.

We walked the streets of 23rd for a while. We passed a boy playing his guitar. He was really good. He had his guitar case open so people could throw money in it. He looked to be around 15. He had a sign sitting in his guitar case. It wasn’t the normal sign that read something like, “Help me, I’m hungry.” It simply said, “Help Fight Boredom.” I smiled and laughed as we passed this boy. I looked at your daddy. I had your daddy give me a couple of bucks and I turned around and walked back to this boy. I threw it into his case as well as your little card and your “All good things are wild and free,” bracelet. He said thanks and continued to play. I caught back up to your daddy and we started to walk. I noticed the boys’ guitar playing had stopped. I turned around to watch him read your bracelet. I watched from a far as he read it. He looked up and waved to me, the girl in the yellow coat. I waved back. That boy made me happy today. He reminded me of you. I hope he never gets cured of his boredom. I hope he remains curious to the world and follows his dreams. I hope he has a mom and a dad who know how lucky they are, to have him. I hope he is safe. I hope he is o.k. I hope he is wild and free. This is what I hoped today, Ronan. It felt nice.

Dear lovely little blog reader: I will address your questions but only because you have pissed me off and I am feeling extra spicy today. Here goes dolly.

Why is it ok to take Ambien, but not an anti-depressant? I think you are being slightly hypocritical. You need something to get out of the abyss you are in – other than your youngest son, which, while totally un-fucking fair, will not happen. The fact that you didn’t care if your older sons’ had winter coats speaks volumes. Christmas Eve and you hadn’t bought your twins any presents??? You need some help. You think you might need to check into a hospital…what do you think they are going to do there? I’ll tell you, they will load you up with anti-depressants. They will monitor your food intake and your vomiting. You will lose the control you so relish. The choices will be taken away from you.

You need to talk to a physician. Your constant vomiting is obviously not healthy – don’t your other sons deserve the same mom that lovingly helped her youngest son? While I’m not suggesting you are bulemic, have you ever read what constant vomiting does to your body, your throat, your teeth? Or is this part of your “danger” crusade?

No, I have never lost a child, so I’m sure that will make you totally disregard my opinion, but do you ever re-read your posts? You are on the edge and if you don’t get some perspective, you are going to fall off. Where will that leave your already devastated family?

It is NOT o.k. to take Ambien. For me anyway. I think this drug is the devil. Obviously you are a new reader and have not read all of my posts, therefore you are the one being hypocritical. I talk about this all this time. I hate myself for the fact that I sometimes have to take this drug in order to sleep. Not all the time, but it is during the times that I am struggling the most, when I know the lack of sleep is going to make the crack, so I give in and just take it to get some fucking sleep. It makes me feel mentally weak. It makes me feel like a loser. It makes me feel a lot of things that I hate but sometimes I need a break from the pain and sleep for a solid 6 hours seems to help. This is not always the case and I am proud of the nights that I don’t have to take anything at all. I try every night, not to take that drug but as I said before, sometimes I need a break.

Why is everyone so bothered by me not getting on the antidepressant band wagon? SHUT THE FUCK UP!!! If it helps other people, great! But it’s not for me. I did the anti depressant thing for about 6 months and it only made things worse. I have tried it, and I didn’t like it. END OF STORY. The abyss I am in is called my son just died 7 months ago. I am so sorry you are so bothered by this inconvenience. I am so sorry that you are so bothered by the fact that I didn’t care about my twins’ winter fucking coats and Christmas presents this year. Lady, are you high?!?! Are you on crack? Are you even a parent? Probably not. If you are, I am scared for you. The fact that you think the above things above are a big deal, in the grand scheme of things, disturbs me. I’m a good mom. I know this. I will never second guess this and anybody that truly knows me, wouldn’t either. Even if I didn’t go out and buy winter coats or Christmas presents this year. I think I deserve a fucking hall pass for this first Christmas, don’t you? I don’t care if you do or not. I’m taking it.

And no. I do not re read my posts. For obvious reasons. Maybe you should go back to the beginning and read them all though, before you judge and spew your words of concern. I’m going to go now. I’m off to go skydiving while I throw up my breakfast to continue my “danger crusade.” Opps. I didn’t eat breakfast today which must mean I’m anorexic. Clearly. I am aware what this constant vomiting does to my body. I’m not proud of this but it’s not something I can control right now. I guess having a dead son will do that to you. I hope the hospital that I am going to check myself into, can bring him back so it will stop. Have a lovely day, thanks for your concern but I think you need to go back and reread what you wrote and try a little harder to put yourself in my shoes. This is not a dog we are talking about, dying. It is a child. It was my son. It is not something a fucking pill can make better. Or a hospital. G’day lovely little blog reader.

Ro baby. I love you. To the moon and back. I miss you. I hope you are safe. I hope you are wild and free.

xoxo