Since last July, I have been writing about Aaron. All year long, I have envisioned a book that tells a mother's story of navigating her way through the landscape of grief.
I am not the first mother to do this by any means, as there are published books out there on this very subject. I have not read any of them. I am simply not ready.
I also need to hear my own story first so that I am not confusing other mothers' experiences with my own.
I don't work on this project very seriously. I pick it up now and then when I have the time or feel like I can face it. Sometimes I push myself a bit, saying "you should do this. You don't need to attempt to publish it, you just need to write it--for yourself."
I envision this story told in monthly chapters with excerpts of my notes to Aaron, descriptions of our cemetery visits, journal writings of my thoughts and some seasonal recipes.
I don't know if I will ever truly put this together or not. I think I will regret it if I don't, and when I feel like this I pressure myself a little, again.
I feel like I am going out on a fragile limb telling you about this project, and even more so to share what is in essence a journal entry intended for myself. These notes to Aaron are about what I think he would want to know about us, and are written as if I were speaking to him.
I began in July of last year. June will remain private. In May I delivered my eulogy, and that along with Michael's, was made available on the blog of a local NPR host.
July 7, 2011 Philadelphia
Your pump is being picked up today. I’m not sure if you would really care about that one way or another. Daddy wanted to keep it for a while because it kept you fed for so long.
I threw out the backpack for your pump, which makes me think of school. Packing that up every day, I was always so full of hope for your day. It should be with you at camp right now.
Olivia is loving her Mud Shack camp. She does so much every day. Yesterday they made leather bracelets.
She’s still playing Fantage, the computer game, and connects with her friends online.
I’m taking Harry to the vet. today because we’re worried he has lyme disease again.
A couple days ago I made bread for the first time since you died. Even though you didn’t eat my bread, you were always with me when I was making it.
Somehow, I thought that wherever you are right now, and if you can see us, that you’d see that everything is as it should be: me cooking dinner and making bread, Olivia on the computer and playing around, Daddy home from work and helping me in the kitchen, Harry running and barking.
I felt like you’d be thinking, “there’s my family, doing what they always do.” I thought it might make you feel good. It made me feel good in some way.
I miss you over and over. Love, Mommy
Are you still there? I hope I haven't scared you off. I may share a part of this project again at some point if I continue, but not too often. It's rather a hard thing to do.