Wednesday, August 10, 2011
A is for Aaron
Our beautiful boy left us on May 14th, 2011. He was seven years old.
To say, however, that he left us is not completely true, as he seems to be everywhere that he made his presence known.
He filled his school, his classroom, his home, and the hearts of his teachers, classmates, doctors, nurses, sister, parents and dog.
He has touched the lives of those who did not know him, but who are close to those who did.
I began this blog when he started “Kindergarten”. I have written about him in the ways I wanted to. This was never a space for his medical problems.
I am unsure as to how I will proceed here on Hearth Arts, only that I know I will continue. While Aaron was unable to eat my bread or any food I cooked, he was often with me in the kitchen. I was always thanking him for his patience as I did “just one more thing.”
Sometime in the Spring, a friend of Olivia’s was surprised to find out that I had a blog. “Your mother has a blog? What’s it about?” she asked. Olivia replied that it is about our family. “Are you in it?” her friend asked. Olivia said that she was.
We are still a family, however, our house seems quiet and missing something incredibly dear and vital. There is still bread being made and garden harvest being cooked. I still go to the farmer’s market on Saturdays. I have picked up my knitting needles again.
Every act of creativity resumed has been tentative. When I am struggling to do something because it makes me sad, I think of Aaron’s tremendous spirit, sense of fun and laughter. I ask myself what he might want me to do.
I’m not sure a seven year old boy would have a opinion about blogging, but I do think he would like me to continue telling stories, particularly ones about us. The sillier the better, and there ought to be as many involving Olivia and Harry as possible.
Sometimes about an hour before dinnertime, when I’m standing in my spot at the cutting board, I imagine him peeking in at us. I imagine that he would be pleased because we would be doing what he would find familiar.
Mommy cooking dinner. Olivia playing nearby. Harry barking and wanting to be let out and then let back in. Daddy coming home from work.
Right now, he’d see me here, at my computer, trying to figure out what to say. That would be a familiar scene, too. He’s a part of our family still, my bread, my blog, and for that reason I will be able to go on here. His laughter will be in my head, his sweetness keeping me focused, and his love of people and funny things inspiring me.
I invite you to remember Aaron in my favorite post about him. There are a few others noted below.
Thank you for being here.