ACCEPTANCE

ACCEPTANCE ACCEPTANCE ACCEPTANCE ACCEPTANCE ACCEPTANCE

ACCEPTANCE.........not possible for me.

Time changes nothing, only how long it has been since you died.

I think that I have accepted all that happened to you.  Getting MS.

Your deterioration. Your sadness, disbelief, then stoicism.  First, there was hope.

Then, there was war.  After, came , not acceptance, but coping.  And then, came death.

I have marked each month and year since you died.  I have lived each holiday, watched each season pass.  Seen your children adjust, grow, mature.

I have seen your Father and I age.  But, I have not ever accepted your death.

You refused to accept the life that MS, Miserable, Misbegotten, Suffocating MS

would have created for you.  You said that acceptance was defeat.  You chose not to accept, but to move on, to an unknown place or to nothing.  You would not accept.

I do not accept.  I know that you are dead.  I hate that I may never see you again as you were.  I loved your voice, eyes, gestures, walk, physical handsomeness, spirit and all that was you.  To tell me that I will find you in some nebulous form, I do not accept. I yell at the sky each night.....I DO NOT ACCEPT.

Part of me is broken.  I don't care to fix it.  I accept that.  I speak to you every night, implore you to give me a sign that you hear me.  Cry when nothing but the wind, or a cloudy pink sky are my only companions.  I watch the birds settle for the night, dragonflies swoop by.  My ears strain to hear anything that you might say.  Nothing.  And so, I tell you, I DO NOT ACCEPT.

Much of my inner thoughts are focused on you.  I try not to remember the horrors of your illness, deterioration, loneliness.  But, the wound is there, waiting to fester.  And, it does often.  I look at your photos, read your words, hope to remember good memories.  Not always possible. 

Time has passed, continues to pass.  I only know that I miss you beyond comprehension.  Love you, love you, love you. 

NO, I DO NOT ACCEPT.

Happy Birthday????

My Darling Son, George,

On April 23, 2018, you would have reached the age of 50.  Such a milestone for it is at that point in life, that one reflects, measures what success has been achieved and, most importantly, proudly admires and loves the family that one created.

You, George, will not see any of those moments.  By now, your two oldest children are adults.  They would have benefited so much from your love, guidance and wisdom.  Oh, they have had love and guidance, but they missed that special ability you had to impart loving gems.  Your wacky humor, amazing physical strength, Greek pride, grounded values and simple goodness.
Yes, they needed you, George, and they will never receive the gifts you could have given.  And the two youngest, they are now magnificent giants, as you were, but so young when you died, that they will have only few memories but no depth of understanding of who you really were.

It has been five years since you died.  I really don't have any idea of how those years have flown.  I know that I speak to you every morning and night, dream of you often but still fall into despair and tears in those dreams.  I am so sad that we will make no new memories.  The ones that I have, are fading with time.  Only the pain of your loss is still strong.  It is like I wear a second skin under my visible one.  You are there always,

I thought that I had come to some acceptance of your death.  I seemed to be a somewhat normal person, although more short of temper, tolerance as well as less joyful.  I lied to myself.  A mother does not lose a son such as you, and remain the same person as before.  I use to delight in hearing your voice, knowing that you were busy with your family, happy in your work.  Now, too often, I remember only the years, days, hours of your suffering.  I know that is not what you wanted for me, but neither of us knew how I would be.

MS has not been cured since you died.  You were right about that.  And, the men with whom you had friendships, through the misfortune of having MS, are now quadriplegics.  You determined that was not the life that you wanted.  So, George, you were right in many ways and courageously strong in your knowledge of yourself.

I have written so many words in the vocabulary of love and pain.  I just don't have any more to use.  I look at your photo on my wall and call you "my laughing boy".  That's who you were.  You loved to be a crazy joker, excited over a great sandwich, happy to shovel snow, wash your truck and hug your kids.  You were a fun guy, George.

Above all, you were a sweet, brave, honest, honorable man.  What a man.  And, I will think of you as I take my last breath.  I love you.