Originally uploaded by Chat in the Hat
My Dear Michael,
I am missing you very much tonight. I was going through some of your clothing, trying to decide which items to include in a quilt I'm having made for your mother. I was taking individual shirts out of the closet, touching them and inhaling your scent. As I do things such as this I am well aware of the cost. At the moment it doesn't matter, I just want some kind of connection to you. I was able to pick some for the quilt, then picked two that I will keep forever with me.
The moment I put the shirts back in the closet my tears began. It seemed to then unleash a hunger in me to reach out to you. At the same time it is like a bad drug, pulling me down a path I know will only lead to pain. I stood there looking at myself in the mirror, watching the pain develop in my face. I could see the strain in my expression, then my eyes welling up with a flood of tears, flowing down my cheeks. I walked around our room, searching for something, needing to take myself back to six months ago. What was I doing on this night? Did I know that there would only be one more night with you?
I went over next to our bed, and just sat on the floor. It seems that when my pain is at it's worst I need to be on the ground. Thank god we put in carpet, as I had a soft and warm place to rest. I reached out in front of me, knowing what I would find. It was the book that I wrote in during your last two weeks of life. I wrote every single dose of medication I gave to you. I wrote every symptom of your disease, of your pain, of your suffering. I looked at the small notations, who I called for advice, what I should do if the medication didn't soothe you. I now wonder if I gave you enough. Why didn't I write more than I did?
Again dear, I know that going down that path is not good for me. It is all so painful. But then again, I also have a need to validate your suffering, to remind myself of all you went through. I don't want you to ever feel that you were alone in any of it. I hope you knew I was there every minute of it. I hope that even when you were unable to speak, unable to move, unable to see, that you knew I was there.
Michael, I love you so much. It was so hard to let you go, but I knew that I had no right to hold you back. For some reason God had made a decision for you, and I suppose I have to accept that I am never going to fully understand why.
I called your mother today while I was at work. I just needed to hear her voice, and to once again feel the connection to you. I found that once we were talking I didn't want to hang up. She asked how I was doing, and I told her that life is such a struggle. I told her that I can't stop needing you, and searching for you. In the past I have found myself holding back from expressing my grief so candidly with her, as I didn't want to make this any more painful for her than it already is. But today I needed to let her know how difficult my life is without you. She told me that she often thinks about how much more difficult this must be for me, as you were with me daily, and now every day is a reminder that you are gone. There is never the luxury of pretending that you are just somewhere else.
I'm going to stop now. I am going to just lay here in silence, and allow myself to feel what I need to feel. I am going to welcome you to be present to my love, and to my sorrow.
I am forever yours.