My Beautiful Little Boy

Sometimes
I will have this moment.
When it all comes rushing down on me.
And I put my head in my hands and think
I can't believe this is my life.
MY life.
I can't believe my boy is gone and I will never hold him again in this life. My beautiful, sweet, perfect boy, mine.
My son.
My first.
So much dearness and love. Soft earlobes and dark hair and the tilt to his head on my chest that said mama, you are my mama.

And I feel so angry I want to scream and break something.
But what is there to break? How can I carry on like that in the house with a little girl? A little girl I want to love and protect.

I try to imagine where I could go and what I could break.
I could throw rocks, or logs, but they don't really break.
I want to destroy something. Like glass.
In this moments it's like I'll wake up and think, "What are you doing, living your life like everything is fine, being happy, do you REALIZE what has happened?"

And I deserve happiness, and I deserve good moments and life does keep going. But I'm just telling you, there are these times when I can see and feel very clearly
that the most precious thing
that had ever come into my life
the baby I most wanted to preserve, to take care of and love
had to die.
And I helped him die, with love and tears and sweetness
And then
He was gone.

And then the house was empty
And it was the truest, most sickening emptiness
That ever was.




And that anniversary was today. The anniversary of his passing, of our family coming in around Him to love him and say goodbye, to hold us up,
And then they left to let us rest.
We laid down in the bedroom, listening to mariachi music from the neighbor's,
And I woke up
And walked to the place in the living room where you were born
And wailed.
Nothing nothing
Could make this better, could give him back to me, could take this from me.
Not drinking, not movies, not chocolate, not love.
Only walking into the deep pain,
One small step, another small step,
looking at the light change,
and crying and crying.

I had other precious things too. My husband who walked these small steps with me, who cried lakes of salty tears, whose heart was broken, who was willing to go into this darkness too so that we could come out together. Not knowing, not seeing, how it would ever change, but he laid next to me and held my hand and we went one step at a time. We laughed one laugh at a time. We ate one meal at a time. Opened one piece of mail, wrote one check, answered one phone call, made eye contact when we both knew we were hurting at a friend's dinner party and wanted to go home and light his candle. At some point we surfaced. And sometimes we need to go back down again, deep down, to the weeping place. And be there for a while. We miss him so much. I have someone who misses Otto just as much as I do. It was our love that made him in the first place. Just love. And love he remains. Up in the stars, down in my heart. All through the house.