Lou dropped me off at home at my request so I could be alone. I've been wrapped up in Ty's monster blankie and crying ever since, with occasional trips into his Captain America room to look at all of his favorite things. I even pulled down his basket of medicine and yelled at it "this was supposed to save you! Why didn't this work!?!?" Eventually I slipped it back up on the shelf, untouched. Some day I will have to empty all of that, but when I saw that one of his belly tubes still had some fluid in it that was once inside Ty's belly I realized I may never be ready to throw that stuff away. I had the fleeting and most disgusting urge to drink it so I could have him part of me again, but luckily I didn't follow through because I am sane enough to realize how totally INsane that is. Someone else will probably have to get rid of all that stuff for me.
This grief is the worst kind of pain. I wonder if people cut themselves to redirect all of the mental anguish into something physical. As if the physical pain might serve as an outlet for all of the pent up emotions. The way I feel right now, I don't think cutting myself with a razor would suffice. I need a dull, rusty nail and still it would pale in comparison to my real pain.
I have no intentions of causing myself physical harm, but today I hurt so much that it almost sounds like a realistic option. Luckily I am very grounded and would never follow through with something like that, don't worry. There is no solution in hurting myself physically on top of the pain I already have. It can't get any worse than this, so the rusty nail thing is just gross and might send me to the hospital, which is not exactly a healing alternative - I know.
The crying is starting to subside. It's been a couple of hours. I had a terrible stomach ache, too, which seems to be waning. I may be able to pick myself off of this couch after I finish writing this. There is a couple of recent conversations we had with Gavin, that I want to share first. I believe he is handling all of this so well, I am so proud of him.
Gavin is such a little man. He takes a very long time on the potty, and since he's only three he insists that I keep him company the entire time. We have some adorable conversations to pass the time.
Last night I asked him,"What do you remember most about TY?"
"Umm. I wee-memba pwaying wif him."
"Oh, that's so nice. What else to you remember?"
"Umm. Scooting wif him."
"Scooting wif him on the floor (Gavin used to imitate Ty when he scooted around the house on his butt around this time last year)"
"I remember that too, that was great. You two had a lot of fun together."
"Yeah! And I remember Ty wearin' his SuperTy costume and flying all over the sky!"
"Well, I do think that's probably what he's doing right now, don't you?"
"Yeah! In the hos-piddle."
"Nooo. Ty is not at the hospital right now. Where is he?"
"Umm... Wif GAWD (aka "God" in Gavin speak)." (Gavin said this with a big smile)
"That's right, with God in heaven."
"Is his house like my house?"
"No, I think it is much bigger and much nicer and maybe it even sits on top of the clouds!"
"I want to be wif GAWD and Ty, too."
Of course he does. It sounds like so much fun. That was last night. This morning Lou told me that Gavin asked Lou to tell him about Ty out of the blue, so Lou sat him on his lap and scrolled through hundreds of photos - old and new - on his phone. I think it's amazing that Gavin is still so interested in Ty. It makes me happy.
The other day I took Gavin to get his picture with Santa. Oh how I wish Ty was there on the other side with Santa. Gavin was a pretty good sport about it, though. Very cute. We are supposed to pick out our Christmas Tree today, but I don't think I have it in me. Every year we took Ty to the tree farm and he would pick out the biggest, nicest trees for our family and for Aunt Debi. How can we do that without him this year. Gavin will have to be in charge, but I am going to be a basket case being there without Ty.
The other night, there was a huge noise that startled all of us in the house. We live in a fairly rural neightborhood and it definitely came from our house. It was late at night and I said "what the heck was that?!" Lou began looking all over the house and so did I. We checked every shelf in every closet, every hanging bath toy, etc. and we just couldn't figure out what it was! The next day, Lou discovered that it was Ty's tiny bicycle that fell of a shelf in our garage. It hasn't otherwise moved in two years and there was no wind last night what-so-ever. I like to imagine that Ty just wanted to know that now he is doing all of the things he wasn't able to do in life. Ty is amazing.
|Ty Campbell, August 2010 (at the time of diagnosis)|