Who Knew

You know, we cry less now. And I'm not saying that to make you feel guilty in Heaven. I don't think guilt exists in Heaven, anyway. It's a hallmark that joy comes more frequently than the sorrow -- or even just a day, a plain old day. Plain old days come before the gut-twistng "why's," now, or the dull ache of just not wanting to feel anything at all. Those days are over. Thank God.

When the grief of your loss visits me, I know it isn't you. I used to wonder if you were settling your soul upon my body so I could taste what you felt that day; so that my questions would be answered bit by bit. I say taste because at those times I would feel this bitterness well up in me and it would come out of every opening on my face. It would wash and wash through me and out me until I could physically taste the grief.

Grief is such a polite word. That wasn't grief. It was anguish, it was torture, it was C.S. Lewis' "the eternal vivisector." NOW I understand what he meant! It's regret. I think I'm going to make regret a swear word in our house, just like we did with hate. You can drop the f-bomb in the house and get away with it. Say hate, and all three of my kids could say it in chorus, "Don't say hate, say 'dislike intensely.'"

Pink wrote a song called "Who Knew" and in the video they make it about a romance, about a boy/girl break-up. The lyrics speak too plainly and I'll let them finish what I have to say here. I was walking the dog this morning and the song came on. I jokingly told Chris that I sobbed in the jail parking lot, I snuffled on Applegrove Street. I horked up a big old ball of snot on Alder Street and by the time I got to our door it had almost passed. I sat on the steps in the hallway, took off my boots and the dog dried me off instead of me drying him off. You'd really like him, Ben.

I'm sending you a note to Heaven to tell you that you haven't been forgotten and you will never be forgotten. You are loved... imperfectly, sloppily and with lots of tissues, loved.

Mom

Who Knew <~~~~ click please

Letter to Ben - March 4, 2010

Dearest Ben...

So I thought I was finished the book and wondered if our communication had come to an end because I ... finished the book. The anniversary of your death came and went without so much as a whisper because I was embroiled in the recovery from surgery gone amok...

...I'm not finished. I'll never be finished because I will never forget you... or put you aside. I want to. I want the grief to be at an end, to close the chapter, put the book on the shelf as Kegerreis wisely advised. It is not possible.

It is not possible because you lived. It is not possible because I have work to do in your honor -- in our honor, in the name that we chose at birth and will die with the same. Then we will enter into the next phase of learning. I wonder who you will be next. I wonder if I have already seen your eyes sparkling back at me, your mouth formed in a infant's hello. Or if you trotted past me wearing fur... it is possible!

I'm writing to tell you I haven't forgotten. I'm writing to tell you that our work is not over and I need you. I'm writing to tell you that I love you with all my heart and my life isn't the same without you in it -- so here you are, selfishly snatched from Heaven's embrace to walk the ghostly plane with your obsessive mother. Perhaps I am lingering, holding on to the wisps of your comet light. I shall be grateful for it, anyway... for having had you at all.

With much love...
Mom

What's Next?

I finished the book last week -- the one I've been writing for the last twenty years or so. I don't really have any rushing feelings of relief or joy. It's done! There's this sense of calm. Kegerreis was right. Just because the book is finished doesn't mean that it isn't a part of who I am as a human being. I've put it up on the shelf and will remove it to edit for publication and after publication, I'll bring it down to help anyone that asks.

February 1st is right around the corner. This will mark the 4th year that Ben is gone. Recently he came to visit and it was ... well, it was wonderful. I was preparing for surgery, I had a boobechtomy (fancy word I know) and I was afraid. I was having a major part of my anatomy reduced and didn't really know what to expect. I asked for God to give me a direct sign that everything was going to be ok. Reading Buechner's sermons inspired me to go directly to the source and say, "Puh-lease let me know this isn't a dumb decision."

I got up in the morning and turned on the TV to watch the weather/news and lo and behold Robin Williams was talking with Annabella Sciora in her version of hell, her doubt.

I grinned... "Hello Ben." What Dreams May Come was our favorite movie, mother and son. I sat there for a bit in silence, tears dropping... and grinning like an idiot. I had my sign. My angel was watching over me. I told Chris and Sarah and then resolved that I was probably just looking for signs. Man, it doesn't take long for doubt to creep back in, does it? Went to work, cleaned off my desk, said "See you soon" to my co-workers and went home carrying my feelings of generalized anxiety.

Went into the bedroom, turned the TV on to watch weather/news and hollered, "Sarah, come here, I'm not crazy!" Cuba Gooding Jr. was showing Robin Williams that he needed to move on.

So do I.