After the end

My sweet, sweet boy.

It’s been six months since the day you were taken from me. People say they can’t believe it has already been that long, and I can’t believe it hasn’t been longer. It feels like it’s been at least three years since I’ve heard your laugh, seen your smile, or felt your glorious hugs.

They say time flies when you’re having fun, but I’ve never heard anyone describe the opposite. The best I can do is to say it feels like treading water through a hurricane. Every minute is an eternity of terror, struggle, desperation and exhaustion. Filled with constant disbelief and questions of how did I get here? How is this my life?!

I know that I will survive this, but what is the rest of my life going to look like? Everything I thought I knew about the future died with you that day. I’ll have no prom pictures to take, no graduation party to plan, no mother and son dance at your wedding, no grandbabies to spoil. No moments of pride and adoration of the man you’ve become.

I’ve been grieving the loss of all of those things these last six months. And I miss you with all that I am and every breath that I take. When I need to, I visit your room. It’s still the way you left it. I go there to just breathe the air and feel your energy. It’s comforting and blistering at the same time. I lay on your bed, hug your pillow and cry. They aren’t the silent tears that well up when I’m in public or with friends.

My grief is loud.

When I was a kid, we lived next to a dairy farm.   I remember not being able to sleep one night because a cow was making all kinds of noise.  I learned that momma cows wail and bellow, scream and cry all night long when their calves have been taken away from them.  I will never forget that incredibly mournful sound.

I hear that sound again when I’m alone in your room. I am that mother cow. Begging to have my baby back.  Screaming because you were taken and everything is out of my control.  I tell you over and over that I love you and I miss you.  I smell your t-shirts and I can feel you telling me that you love and miss me too and that everything will be okay.

Eventually the noise goes away and I’m calm.

My sweet boy, please know that even on my best day, there is a void that only you can fill. Please know that I will love you forever.  You were truly my best friend and the love of my life.  The greatest thing I’ve ever or will ever do is being your mom. I’m so grateful for the time we had together. I will miss you every day until we meet again.

Until then, I will keep treading water and living as best as I can. And hopefully make you as proud of me as I am of you.

I’ll close this letter with what we used to say to each other every night when you were little.

“Love you bigger than the ocean, bigger than the sea, bigger than the mountains, bigger than me.”