I can't stop thinking about Calvin these last few days. I mean while I think of him everyday, lately I've been thinking about him all day, everyday. Especially when I lay down to go to sleep at night and the house is quiet and dark. That lump has come back, you know, the one that sits in the back of your throat that chokes you into tears whenever someone brings up the thing that's been on your mind? Maybe it's the weather, the time of year that Calvin was born and died, maybe it's because I can't believe it's coming up on a year already and my life has been basically at a standstill for that long. Maybe it's because no one mentions him much anymore. I'm hurting, and I'm mad at my family for not caring about me or about Calvin.
My last conversation with my grandmother hurt me so much I have been unable to talk about it. Who gets angry at a ninety year old woman? I feel bad for the thoughts I've had about her, about wanting to tell her to fuck right off because she's a miserable old bitter woman who yells at me about things that happened twenty years ago but tells me to stop living in the past because everytime we talk, all I talk about is "my dead son". I have long believed that my relationship with my grandmother is abusive, she has said some of the most hurtful things ever said to me in my life. I have tried to explain to people what she is like but I've been told over and over again that "Margaret, she's just an old lady, she doesn't mean to hurt you." People don't understand that she has been this way my entire life, long before she became a ninety year old woman. I feel like an infant sometimes when I am dealing with her, a short 4"10" tyrant who has reduced me to tears more often than I care to remember while I have stood there silently crying in anger and frustration. Part of my guilty concience won't let me yell back at her, to tell her to shut up, because not only is she old, but she is my mother's primary caregiver. She is also the only member of my mother's family who communicates with me. I am torn between hanging onto the connection and turning and walking away forever.
So here I am, a thirty-eight year old child being yelled at for being a little shit when I was thirteen years old but in the same breath being asked "When are you going to get over that?" , when talking about my son. I feel so utterly alone sometimes, with no family of my own to rely on for emotional support. Having my husband's family has been a blessing in alot of ways but there is always the feeling of not being "real" family. Truthfully I am still angry at my family for not coming to Calvin's funeral, for not taking time out of their busy lives to support me while I am living through the hardest, most painful loss of my life. So who do I talk to? I have no mother's lap to crawl into. I have no one left on my father's side. My aunt and uncle on my mother's side have had nothing to do with me for the last six years after my cousin, their darling daughter, came to live with me and I kicked her out after she brought cocaine into my house. I miss my son. Missing him is worse with this terrible feeling of disconnect I have with my blood relations. If there is anything in life I could wish for, it would be to have strong family support. Love. Genuine caring about each other. Not a family who gets together once in a blue moon in our best clothes and politely sits around a dinner table making small talk. I want a family that would hug me, rush to be by my side during my darkest hour, rejoice with me during happy times, and who actually know who I am. I have been told to create that family, the one I long for, with my husband and children. While it is something I aspire to, I also need and crave motherly attention of my own. Not just to be the one who is giving it all the time.
I need someone in my life I can talk to. I need someone who can understand how heartbreaking it has been for me not only to lose my son, but to also watch my husband turn into someone I'm not sure I know sometimes because of his own grief. As Calvin's year approaches I am finding myself deeply troubled and incredibly lonely. I can't stop thinking about my son and the moments I held him, loving him and wishing for more time. I can't stop thinking about the day he died as I quietly held him in my arms, praying for a miracle. I can't stop thinking about how my life hasn't felt the same, how my marriage feels empty at times, how sometimes the only deep bonds I feel are with my daughters. I think I would give anything in this world right now for someone who loves me to open up their arms and just let me cry instead of keeping it all bottled up inside. Oh God I miss my son. I miss my life before grief. I miss my mother. I wish I could have everything back.
Avelyn is Eleven Years Old. (WHAT IS LIFE?!)
5 days ago