In memory of my son, because every life leaves something beautiful behind...
Monday, April 27, 2009
It's been almost six months since we lost Calvin. Six months already. I can't believe it. Of course I have spent much of the last six months numbing out, distracting myself, doing anything I can not to feel. I can't keep it up much longer. Tomorrow we are going to order Calvin's marker and for the life of me, we can't figure out what we want it to say. If I sit down long enough and think of how I want the world to know about my son I start to cry. Nothing seems adequate. Nothing seems good enough. I have been avoiding thinking about it as much as possible but the guilt has been eating me up bit by bit. I'm scared I think, scared to finish his memorial book, scared to put words to my pain, scared that once I'm done and it's over I have nothing drawing me back to him but my memories. I'm afraid of ordering the marker. What if I order it and then feel like I haven't said enough of my love for him? What if I can't stand to look at it because it makes it too real? There isn't enough food or pills or blogging or shopping that can take away the ache inside and it keeps growing the more I ignore it. I cried today. It was the first time in awhile, I have been avoiding my feelings so much, stuffing them down with anything that fills the void for the time being. The video below is of one of the two songs we had played at Calvin's funeral. The other was Puff the Magic Dragon. I listened to a New Day Has Come about four times in a row, and then I cried. I needed it. I think I still need to cry. I wish I had someone to sit and listen to me rant and moan and cry until I'm all cried out but I've become protective of my grief in a way that doesn't allow me to share very easily anymore. My good friend Lisa was here and I know she would have listened to me as long as I needed her to but something inside me wouldn't let go, couldn't let go enough to get it out, let the tears come. I'm down to six tabs of numb and don't know what I'll do when I'm out. I'm scared to find out just how much this really hurts, because if it hurts this much now, what'll it be like without the numb? I guess I'm about to find out.
I have decided to write about my feelings following the death of my only son in November 2008. I'm learning that grief is a process with good days and bad, a lonely road with new beginnings and unavoidable endings. It is my hope that through writing I can come to peace with what has happened to us and our beautiful boy.