As We Approach 548 (18 months) Days

Dear Ian,

There are still no words, I don't think there ever will be. So much has changed and happened in the 548 days since you left us, yet much has not. There are times it seems like it was yesterday that Adesola knocked on our bedroom door at 5:45 a.m. and said something wasn't right; while other times it seems like a lifetime ago. So far the second year has been harder because everything is becoming more real.

 

Remember the night before you passed, when Daddy and I were talking with you; telling you it was ok to go to Heaven and we would eventually be ok....well we're still working on it. Some days are better than others, some days are good, some bad, some horrible, and some are ok. We do tend to have more ok days now; a little bit of joy; but the other kinds of days do still happen and can happen out of the blue. There is still not a day, minute, or second that I don't think about you. That the pain and hole in my heart is noticeable to me...some days it's deeper and stronger than others. Your death represents the loss of future experiences and future hopes. Our world was changed forever the day you passed. The grief, guilt, and anguish felt are acute and lasting. I've learned that the grief journey is unique for each one of us and everything we've experienced is a normal part of it. Some days I wear the face of being ok for others; while inside I'm falling apart. The hole in my heart is there forever. I will always feel the pain of your absence. I'll move forward but never will I move on or get over it. 

Most days when I walk in the house, I still look into the den to where your bed was to listen for your cluck. You needing to know how my day was, what I did and for you to tell me about your day. When I come upstairs to the bedrooms, some days I still want to go into your room to see what your doing, how your night was and to tell you what you have in store for your day. But then I remember, your not there, your not in the den or in your room. It becomes silent, no sounds of machines, no TV too loud, no clucking or the sound of your soft, sweet voice. That all changed 18 long or short months ago.

The anger comes and goes now...oh buddy, we're not angry at you, REALLY just the unfairness of the situation. The fact that we have to continue to live without you, to move forward, finding ways to make a positive out of your disease and your death. At times, we have, but I think more than not we haven't, at least not yet. We’re now able to experience moments of sorrow and joy in unison.  We’re surviving the unimaginable and are growing to have an understanding, strength, courage, and peace that we might otherwise never have known. For that, I'm grateful. 

A wise man once said, "When we lose a loved one we not only lose them, we grieve for the life we were supposed to have with them". Ian, I have found this to be incredibly accurate. I hope you are running around, playing, writing, drawing, just doing; being the wonderful old soul you are. 

I love you to the moon and back.