Thursday, November 3, 2011

The Gift

What is a successful day in the process of grieving? What defines a good day? Each and every day of the past two months has been a struggle. Each day brings its own set of tears. Each day is one of two choices. To stay in bed or to get up? Getting up is hard. Going to work is hard. Surviving is the hardest.

My Mom is a survivor,
Or so I've heard it said.
But I can hear her crying
When all others are in bed.
I watch her lay awake at night
And go to hold her hand.
She doesn't know I'm with her
To help her understand.
But like the sands upon the beach
That never wash away...
I watch over my surviving Mom,
Who thinks of me each day.
She wears a smile for others...
A smile of disguise.
But through heaven's open door
I see tears flowing from her eyes.
My Mom tries to cope with my death
To keep my memory alive.
But anyone who knows her
Knows it's her way to survive.
As I watch over my surviving Mom
Through heaven's open door...
I try to tell her
Angels protect me forevermore.
I know that doesn't help her...
Or ease the burden she bares.
So if you get a chance,talk to her...
And show her that you care.
For no matter what she says...
No matter what she feels.
My surviving Mom has a broken heart
That time won't ever heal.

There are few things that actually make me "feel better." Sure, I can hold it together. I can put on a smile and maybe even laugh. But, each and every second it hurts. Not always that intense pain, but always a pain. I hurt so bad because my son is not here for me to hold, cuddle, rock to sleep, feed or watch grow. There is still one way I can experience him though. It's by talking about him, sharing our story and watching his legacy take flight. Please grant me this one small thing each day.

There's an elephant in the room.
It is large and squatting, so it is hard to get around it.
Yet, we squeeze by with, "How are you?" and "I'm fine"....
And a thousand other forms of trivial chatter.
We talk about the weather.
We talk about work.
We talk about everything -- except the elephant in the room.
We all know it is there.
We are thinking about the elephant as we talk.
It is constantly on our minds,
For you see, it is a very big elephant.
But we do not talk about the elephant in the room.
Oh, please, say his name.
Oh, please, say "Aidan" again.
Oh, please, let's talk about the elephant in the room.
For if we talk about his death,
Perhaps we can talk about his life.
Can I say "Aidan" and not have you look away?
For if I cannot, you are leaving me
Alone... in a room... With an elephant

Today was supposed to have been a very happy day. It was supposed to have been my shower at work. Needless to say, it was a hard day. Instead of eating cake and giggling over cute baby boy things, I received a different kind of gift. A gift I would have never expected and if I had a choice I would trade in. I can't and so I accepted the gift with as much grace and humility as I have. I shared our story. I brought some more awareness to the horror of an incompetent cervix. I found the strength to share my baby and allow his legacy to grow. And for that, I am thankful.

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