BIRTHDAY BLUES
Dear Son,
You would have been 49 years old today.
Still in the prime of life.
This morning, as I prepared the incense holder in the Greek tradition, the tears rolled, unbidden, copiously down my face. I sat on the bed where you died, and talked to your picture. By now, you should be tired of me saying the same words, over and over again.
I miss you. I love you. Did you understand how much I loved you? If only you had needed a kidney, a heart, some organ that I could have given to you to make you healthy. All so unfair!!!! Such a waste.
I wonder who else might be thinking about you today? Your Dad and I just looked at each other sharing our sadness and pain. No one to call him and be silly on a morning phone call.
I really miss your voice, George. You had a melodic and soothing voice. Every time I heard, "Hi, Mom, whatcha doing?", I was happy.
The same words, the same thoughts over and over again. And, identifying with all the parents who have lost a child. Knowing how many of us are hurting, suffering, broken in a special way that only we know.
I wrote in blue today, your favorite color. I didn't bake a cake.
For what reason? On this day, St. George's day, as you knew, my dessert is deep, never ending grief.
Be at peace, my wonderful son. Be at peace.
It is two years tomorrow since George left this earth.
I did not think that I would be able to ever write again on this blog.
Grief and longing are so profound that no words can adequately express the depth to which they go. I can only say that for these last two years, I have lived in a dark place.
There have been moments of light. Seeing my grandchildren and knowing they are healthy and joyful has been like sunshine caressing my face. You know the warmth of that feeling. Honestly, though, not a day has gone by when I have not cried, remembering George when he was ill, and lamenting the moments that will never be.
I have sought comfort in music, poetry, writings of other mothers who have lost their children. I absorbed the sorrow, the pain, the longing of all those who have been thrust into this valley of grief. It is truly a lonely place no matter how many others inhabit it.
My daughters have been so understanding. They have had to deal with their loss as well as mine. And, my husband, how can one ever understand what it means to a man to lose his only son, his legacy, his counterpart in manhood? We have all shared our loss in many ways, but deep inside, we mourn alone.
George's children. How can I possibly know what they are feeling? I only understand that they will no longer have a most wonderful father to guide, love and cherish them. Memories will grow dim, but hopefully the essence of who he was will forever influence and comfort them.
Last week was one of the worst that I have ever experienced. My mind began the countdown of George's last days with us. It was physically and emotionally wrenching. I sunk as low as I ever have in these many years. And, then, NIko, George's son called me.
How I have worried for Niko, the eldest. We talked about George, and then Niko did the most amazing thing. He wrote and sang a song about George and life. I cried for hours after I played it many times. But, you know what? His song and wisdom, cracked that canker of sorrow that has been my companion for too long. The poison flowed out with the tears.
Niko acknowledged the difficulties in life, but said that he and George did not want me to be sad. Imagine. I played the song over and over and will forever.
His final line, "look at the moon, he's all around" Look at the moon.
I will.
One year ago on this date,
George was alive and miserable in his bedroom in our home.
Today, I am alive and miserable remembering each day last year, even though much of it has become a blur.
Anticipation, not filled with hope, but with dread.
Little did I know then, that in less than two weeks, our beloved son would be dead.
Oh, he had told us in no uncertain terms that he was NOT going to live in the state that MS had placed him. That he would not want to live to continue to deteriorate, become more dependent, lose more function, remain isolated from all that made him who he was; children, a loving woman, work, physical strength, friends......PURPOSE.
Now, he saw himself as an imposition on two aging parents, dependent on a caretaker to wash and assist him in his most intimate functions. He saw a man who would never have a woman hold him intimately, care for him as a husband, share all his life with him. He saw no future hope in all the drugs being touted by the pharmaceutical companies and the MS Society. He saw that he could not live with his four children, guide them, play with them, understand and participate with their changes and maturing.
He envisioned nothing but pain, deterioration and dependency.
"This is NOT who I am, Mom, and you know it". Yes, I knew it and understood his every word.
Now, I am a shell of who I was.
I walk, talk, smile, socialize.
I knew that I loved George.
I knew that we had a special bond.
I was willing to care for him for the rest of my life.
I never really knew how much I really loved him.
I never fully comprehended how much I would miss him.
The world expects that I move forward.
That I remember all the good times and find peace that George is no longer suffering.
It doesn't work that way. I have sat all this month remembering the terrible February last year when he suffered, realized his life would never get better and knew that the future held only more pain, suffering, loneliness and decline.
He worried about us caring for him. He didn't want any more ambulance rides, hospital visits, fighting for doctors to help him, sadness over his loss of love and friendships.
I can't explain how the light has gone out of my life. I try to be uplifted with love for my grandchildren, but then I am so sad that they are growing and becoming so wonderful and beautiful and George is not here to see them.
Nothing makes me really happy. I smile and participate, resemble the old me, but still feel like a ghost. I am the ghost, lost in this world and wanting my son to be with me.
I don't know if I will ever recover, find meaning in this life. Look forward to anything. I cry when I think of George's kids, their lives going on and he is not with them. Sadness prevails, and no matter how good my fake face is, I am not there.
Just like George is not here or there. I do not see him in the sky or feel him in the night or see him in my dreams. He is lost, gone. I do not want to believe that he is reborn to another life, as in reincarnation. I do not want someone else to have his love, his beauty, his humor. I am selfish.
I think he is just gone, belonging to the past, no longer any part of this world and not believing that there is another one in which he can exist. I hope I am wrong.
I just want him.
I just want him.........
(Photo taken early in George's diagnosis. Symtomatic, still functioning, but struggling with treatments and adjustments.)
