It's been 2 years since my last article. And yes, I said that in my head as if confessing to a priest. Since I am not Catholic, my confessions stay mute and my articles unwritten. The unquenchable need to write is anguish when the words refuse to come. However, if I am honest, I think the real issue is I have refused the emotions needed to reach into the creative pit to find those words, because that pit also houses the power to destroy me.
So much has occurred in the last few years, so much I wouldn't even begin to attempt to explain. In May, my middle son graduated high school and left for the Army. I would not spend his 18th birthday with him. I would not get to spend an 18th birthday with either of my sons. I was overwhelmed with emotion as I was preparing the photos and such for graduation parties and all the "lasts", thinking of all the have-nots and didn'ts. I was lost for awhile in the loss of time and innocence. But as I sat there with my tear-stained face missing the young boy that this young man once was, I realized the last time I put pictures of a life together, we didn't get to move forward. The last time I gathered pictures from birth to age 17, it was for a funeral.
If you think that was a sobering thought, you'd be right. When I put pictures together celebrating a life that was gone too soon reminded me that my oldest son, Austin, the boy who came from me, who I loved for 17 years and will love forever, the boy who was now gone from this earth unexpectedly, I was suspended in the things that were lost. I was lost in all of the things I didn't do and now couldn't do and would never do. I was lost in all of the arguments and the missed opportunities and all of the things that were taken from him and the world. Putting those pictures together for his funeral made me, for the briefest moment, remember that my son LIVED. That life wasn't perfect, but I loved him so entirely and I tried. We had millions of happy moments. I struggle daily to remember that and not the things that were lost. Most days I lose the battle. But the war rages on.
When I put pictures together for my middle son, Brandon's, graduation, without realization or comparison, I was wrapped up in the loss of his childhood and all of the things that I did not do. But when I realized the last time I had put pictures together was for a funeral, it changed everything. Where all my mistakes and shortcomings still there? Yes. Will they always be there? Yes. Can I change that? No. But I saw the boy who came from me, who I loved for 17 years and will love forever and gets to go forward. That little boy who I loved so entirely grew into a young man and overcame more obstacles than he should have had to. We, as a family, were broken and then nearly destroyed, and we rebuilt. We struggled, we still struggle, we fought, we cried, and we are still here. My middle son GETS to go on. I get to see him do whatever comes next for him. And what is even more important, I know, without a doubt, that this son knows how wholly I love him. I was able to put pictures together for something so wonderful and see his life and the man he has become AND I am able to see where we go next. There is a next. Nothing is promised. Not ever. So even though this next chapter is hard as hell too, I am so thankful for the time to come.
I am not healed. I will never be. I am not ok. I will never be. There is a pain and hole in my heart every single day that I feel. It will never go away. I am a master at adapting and cloaking. But perhaps, I've also graduated.
