I was just on a video chat with a close friend of mine. She is obsessed with drinking pina coladas and then dancing in the rain with said pina colada. Mind you, she has not done this, just obsessed. Upon finding out that we are waiting for Tropical Storm Claudette to arrive, it was insisted that I make one and then dance in the rain. Right away. And for some reason, I felt pressured to do this (damn peer pressure!).
So, I did. And my husband recorded it so I could show proof that I did it. And I was laughing. And he was laughing. And we were both laughing at the silliness that was happening on a random Saturday afternoon. And then I texted the video to my friend. And she sent tons of laughing emojis. And then I sat down at my laptop. And it put up the last thing I was looking at…an article about losing friends after child loss…which I had been reading a few hours earlier, trying to accept this information while dealing with my feelings about it (which we will discuss another time, when I have accepted the loss of these relationships). And it hit me. Again…my son is dead. My Andrew is gone. I will NEVER speak with him again. I will never hug his physical body, hear him speak from his voice box, feel the softness of his skin, look into his beautiful blue eyes.
It has been 899 days since I saw Andrew alive. And here I am, laughing? Enjoying a sliver of life? While my child cannot? The grief. The pain. The realization. The tears. They hit me again. How am I supposed to enjoy life when he cannot? How dare I laugh and be carefree in that moment and forget that my child died. When will this self-inflicted torture end? Is there a set amount of days? Hours? When will I be able to laugh without guilt? When is life supposed to be easy, carefree, again? My heart is still shattered, yet, a few pieces have been taped together, allowing me to have small moments like this.
There have been quite a few of these moments. Especially in the past 200 or so days. These laughing, happy times. Do I hate myself for them? Sometimes. When I remember. And then I am sad. And I feel guilty. My baby boy is not laughing beside me. His physical being is in a box. Ashes. Sitting on a bookshelf, in my living room. Surrounded by pictures of him and crafts he created. I look at this shelf, every morning, and speak with him. It’s always a one sided conversation. How I wish my questions could be answered.
Right now, sitting on my porch and typing this, the tears have flowed. My heart is heavy. I miss my sweet boy so much. But, one thing I do know…as heavy as my heart is right now, there will be more laughter, sooner rather than later. There will be more silliness. There will be more carefree days. I know Andrew is wanting them. Rooting for them. And blissfully happy with them.
Andrew's Angels 