Friday, February 22, 2013
The love of my life, indeed
I am doing better the past couple of days. Very, very busy trying to get The Muddy Puddles Project ready for a Spring launch, but all of that is good and exciting and very rewarding because it is all for Ty. There are so many people, all of you, who have gotten behind this cause because you have been touched by my angel baby, and that makes my life that much better despite it all. How can I look at his pictures and not smile along with him. I cry and ache and long for him, but I smile, too, because he was that special.
I don't have a lot of time for a detailed update tonight because it's so late, but I do want to share with you one short story that is weighing on me.
At five in the morning, Gavin woke me so I could pull him into my bed. He does this at some point every single night because it is too high for him to climb up on his own. It has become such a routine, I usually don't even know what time he comes in and sometimes wake up with no recollection of pulling him up at all. But there he is, every morning, and I relish in his warmth. He isn't a snuggler like Ty - instead he squirms and kicks and makes it hard to sleep, but I still love having him there, in the same spot where Ty used to sleep. It makes me feel a lot more comfort than our scratchy little "Ty Doll" provides. Besides, sleeping with a doll to make pretend my son is still with me makes me feel a little sad and desperate (don't get me wrong, I still do it every night when falling asleep). Waking up next to Gavin is a reminder every morning of why I have to get out of bed and make the most out of my life in honor of the best good boy in the whole wide world.
When Gavin came in this morning, however, it was different because he was awake. He woke me up talking to me and crying. He asked me, "can we go to heaven now?"
me: "What do you mean? Why are you asking me that?"
G: "NO!! Just say we can go to heaven now!!" Crying. Only half awake. Yelling at me.
me: "Baby, we can't go to heaven right now, but some day..."
G: <interrupting me> "Just say yes. You say it. Say we can go to heaven now!!!" Yelling even louder.
me: "Okay, we can go to heaven now."
G: "Can we go to heaven now?"
me: Yes, we can go to heaven now."
He went right back to sleep after that and we haven't talked about it since. He must have been dreaming, and sad, and I just wish there was something I could do. Poor Gavin has so many questions, and he doesn't accept my explanations easily like Ty always did. He can't just smile and "get it" when I tell him that Ty is in our hearts. He has a very literal understanding of that. He also asks me about God's house all the time. What does it look like? What does God look like? He is trying so hard to have a visual understanding of where Ty is. This has resulted in Gavin becoming more curious, in general, about how everyone lives and what everyone's "house" looks like. I am confident that this is all just a normal and healthy way of him processing all he has been through, but that rationale can't stop me from being sad for Gavin and all he is dealing with in that poor, confused, "big-boy" head of his. When he has a sniffle, he also tells me he's sick and asks me if God is going to take him to heaven now. Poor baby. He shouldn't have to worry about that. It breaks my heart.
Then I come out from the bathroom to find him watching TV like this, and I realize he is going to be just fine, right? :)
So, I have been having an extra hard time lately because I haven't really had any significant signs from Ty. All week I would think I saw a hawk overhead, and then exhale in disappointment realizing it was a turkey vulture. No ladybugs. Nothing. Then yesterday I was sitting at the kitchen table working on foundation stuff while Gavin was sitting quietly in the den watching a movie. I didn't move. Nothing shook the house in any way. But out of the clear blue, I heard a loud noise and turned to see that a magnet had fallen off the fridge It was the very first magnet Ty had ever made. He brought it home from preschool and it has been on our fridge for years. Not only did it drop. but it landed really far from the fridge upside down so I could see his name written on back. It didn't break. I hung it back up and when I did I looked to see if anything else on the fridge had shifted that would cause this magnet to fall. Nothing that I could see, anyway.
I truly take that as a sign from Ty. He is with me, always (except, I hope, for when he is off having lots of fun with his friends).
Before I sign off, I want to share this with you. It is very serious and very scary. There is a chance that the government budget cuts - to be decided on in March - will greatly affect funding to the National Cancer Institute (NCI). The NCI is what drives the Children's Oncology Group which is the largest team of childhood cancer researchers in the country. If this happens, studies that are showing progress today will be put on hold. Future research projects that are already grossly underfunded will not get funded at all. More children who are holding onto hope for new treatments will die before those treatments ever become available. Please take the time to click on this link, read more about it, then enter your zip code to send a note to your local congressperson. It is so easy. Our friends at St. Baldrick's have done all of the work - you don't even have to write a word. Please do this.
Goodnight and thank you. Always begging Ty to visit me in my dreams. I can't wait for the day he does.