My son Shale lived for four years, ten months and 17 days.
As of Saturday, August 7, 2010, he’s been dead for four years ten months and 18 days.
He’s now been dead longer than he lived. And my heart is having trouble coping with that fact. The reality of that date passing actually means little. Shale is still gone, lost in the ether of love and memory and our lives proceed onwards as though nothing has changed.
But a lot has changed in the time my son has been gone.
I’ve changed, my husband’s changed, my kids have been forever altered. The person I used to be no longer exists. She was buried beside her son and it’s taken me all these years and tears to claw my way out of the grief and find myself again.
Friendships have dissolved and new ones created, family members have moved on, a child has been lost, a new one has been found. Our world no longer resembles the one we left behind when we said goodbye to our son.
But through all of this, he’s never been forgotten.
I worry now, as time ticks slowly by, his memory will fade into oblivion. I wonder if my children will remember their little brother when they are fully grown and have children of their own. I fret because there is no way I can make my youngest understand he has a brother he’ll never know. I wake up in a cold sweat still, all these years later, because I just remembered my son is dead.
I had hoped that the passing of time would mean this pain we carry in our hearts would lessen.
Instead, the pain is as heavy and cloying as a wet wool blanket, threatening to smother the joy we work so hard to fill our lives with. It’s the memories of my son which are fading. I can no longer remember his smell on command or immediately recall what Bug’s laughter sounds like. Time is not robbing the pain but instead thieving the memories his life created.
And I can do nothing to stop this process other than grieve the inevitable loss.
Will *I* remember my son when I’m old and crippled?
There is no expiration for grieving, I know this, but I’m tired of the sadness. I’m tired of remembering I’m a mother to a dead kid. I’m exhausted from saying I have four children when people can only see three.
My son’s absence has now shaped me and our family as much as his life ever did.
This past Saturday, I said goodbye to my son, again. I let him go. I promised him and myself that I would never forget him. I will always love him, with every breath I ever take. But I had to let the pain of his passing go. I can’t spend the rest of my life hauling this burden around with me, weighing my happiness down.
I can’t change the past. I can’t bring Shale back.
But it took four years, nine months and 18 days to say good bye to the pain and guilt I’ve harboured since I said goodbye to him in a darkened emergency room. A million wishes can’t undo his death and all the what-ifs in the world won’t help us heal.
I will always mourn my son and wonder what life would have been like if he lived. But for the first time in all these years, I finally feel at peace with his fate and mine, and feel like I can spend the rest of my life loving him like a mother should.
No matter how many days pass, I will always be Shale’s mom. And I will always love you, Bug. I promise. I finally understand, I may never have new memories with you, and the ones I have may fade like an old photograph, but the love I have, it is enough.
karengreeners
Thought I could give myself a few days since originally reading to comment without crying, but it turns out, I can’t.
You are grace and strength and I love you.
Missives From Suburbia
I’ve tried, but I don’t think there’s anything I can say that would match the level of emotion I feel reading that without sounding cliche or trite. My boy just turned four about a month ago. I’m going to go hug him extra tight now and think of you and Shale.
Another Suburban Mom
I am so sorry for your loss. As a parent I can’t imagine how you ever stop grieving something like this.
Arlene
Even though you have over 100 comments on here, and everything’s probably been said, I feel compelled to tell you that you made me cry. I don’t remember how I stumbled onto you now, but I’ve been silently reading for a month or so.
My Uncle, who was basically my father, died almost 4 years ago, and I have moments of panic now because I can’t remember his voice, his smell, his laugh. My son, who’s 8, doesn’t remember him, and that breaks my heart. I want to bring him back so my son can remember him and know how fabulous he was. And then there’s my 12 year old daughter, who’s just realizing he’s truly not coming back.
Grief is a crazy thing, and definitely not something I’d wish on anyone. I’m sorry for your loss, but I’m glad you have an outlet that you share.
Sugar Jones
Love you, lady.
Crystal (Lukasmummy)
Your a better woman than me hun, in exactly 10 days time Leo would have been 6 years old. He was 3 months old when he died, and I still can’t really say goodbye. It’s so hard when everyone else seems to have moved on and forgotten him and I can’t. My husband is always telling me I should just move on and get on with my life but I can’t. 3 months with him will never be enough for me. Only yesterday I had to deal with a hysterical 8 year old because he happened to come across an old toy of Leo’s and just burst into tears and sobbed about how much he missed him. We never forget, we just get better at hiding how hard it is to get through each day. (((hugs))) Hugs Crystal xx
Pattie
I cried for you reading this. Sending hugs and love your way.
John Allison III
Thanks for sharing this story. It reminds some of us that we have so much we take for granted and should be thankful for. I pray that God will lessen your burden and give you joy as you move through life.
Stephanie
I am so sorry for your loss and your hurt. Thank you for sharing and reminding us to cherish every single second of every day.
Lucretia Pruitt
I was so afraid to read this. I’m so glad I got over my fear.
Thank you for sharing this in such an incredible way.
Love is hope.
Mary @ Holy Mackerel
The pain, I cannot even begin to imagine.
leslie
……..the twins would have been 6 by now….they have a 4.5 year old brother and a year old sister………..and it breaks my heart daily that they all can’t know one another………
Mieke
Peace.
Vera
You are stronger than you know. Shale’s memory will be just fine; your family won’t have it any other way.
Bloggers like you make the Internet worthwhile. Thank you for sharing your family with us.
Michelle Zive
Thank you for sharing your incredible journey. You’ve handled this with such grace. I for one vow to be better about my goodbyes and less wistful about time marching on. I vow to love what I do have.
sue at nobaddays
My son is 4 yrs and 10 months old now, and your post is a bittersweet and painful reminder that I can never hug and love him too much. Thank you.
Claire Gutschow
You remind me how truly amazing it is to be human. And to feel. And to open yourself in spite of the pain. Thank you.
Calamity Anne
My heart squeezed so tightly as I read your post. We are now just a month past 6 years since our daughter was murdered. I’ve always wondered why my husband’s family never mentions her…EVER!!! That is until a few days ago when my mother-in-law brought up something regarding our legal system, and wondered if it might help solve Amanda’s murder. It brought me new hope that she’s still remembered within the family.
One other thing, then I’ll let you go…I always found it so awkward to say that I had 3 kids after Amanda died, and then had to explain that one was murdered. Now after 6 years, I’m finally saying that I have 2 kids…Amanda knows what I mean.
Peace out!
Jenny, Bloggess
Sending you such hugs, my friend.
Maggie, dammit
I’m late, obviously, been all kinds of wrapped up, but I had this post saved in my reader to come back and comment…not because I have something to say, because I don’t. What can be said? I’m just here to mark time with you, and to send you love.