Life goes on. Whether I like it or not.

Some days I just don't want to live my life without him in it

I haven’t been able to update the calendar in my kitchen since July.  Every two months, I erase and write in the upcoming months, filling in the birthdays, anniversaries, appointments and other plans.  That means I was supposed to write out August and September by now.  But I can’t bring myself to do it, just as I couldn’t bring myself to erase that same calendar for months after losing him.  In those eight weeks, it shows our life before we knew Ty’s cancer returned – with a hopeful “first day of school” written in – and then “Ty is 5!” written happily, a little square on the wall that I would often stare at in disbelief until I finally found the strength to erase it.  Of course, I took pictures first.

It looks like such a normal family calendar, until you look a little closer and see that Hospice was coming by one day in September for our orientation.  MRI isn’t a common thing to be on the family calendar, but we had a minimum of one every two months.  I kept track of how often Ty went to the bathroom on our kitchen calendar.  Weaved in with all of the celebratory reminders, are the very worst kind of reminders.  I still can’t believe this happened.  I still expect to see him on the couch every day.  I listen for his laughter.

August 17th was ten months without Ty.  We spent that day at a memorial for our friend’s Dad in Buffalo, who fought brain cancer right alongside Ty and who recently died from it.  Cancer, how I loathe you.

September 17th marks the day we went home on hospice care one year ago.  Then comes October.  October 4 should be his sixth birthday, and October 17th will be one year without him.  How will we survive this? 

When you are in the worst pain imaginable – when you feel robbed of the possibility of ever being happy again – you simply don’t want to hear that "time heals."  You want to scream at the people who say it because it is that impossible to imagine.  And at almost one year, I am not all better by any means, but I am doing better.  I still cry off and on every day.  In fact, some days are harder than ever and it's all so unpredictable.  This loss is one I will grieve for the rest of my life, that I know for sure.  But still, they are right.  Those words are beginning to ring true, ever so slightly.  In time, I have been able to do more and more without bursting into uncontrollable tears.  Slowly, I find myself trying to live my life again (until I get blasted over the head with one-year anniversaries).  I'm not fooling myself.  I know these next two months are going to be impossible.  I need people to keep talking about Ty.  I never want to feel like anyone expects I should be "over it by now," because I will never, ever be "over it."  But it's also okay to talk to me about everyday bullsh*t.  I'm okay enough and I kind-of need to talk about nothing important just to pass the time until these months are behind me again. 

I tried so hard to be the best for Gavin today.  I never, ever stay home alone for long because it is always too hard for me to feel such silence and absence.  But today the weather was pure perfection and we weren't up to anything but hanging out just me and G.  We went swimming in the morning, had pancakes AND French toast with extra syrup.  We made Play-Doh. I hid my tears when I filled the plastic ice cream cone with swirly play-doh because that was Ty’s favorite part.  And when I found the old pieces of Play-Doh candy shoved into an old container it was as if a rusty nail pierced my heart.  We went swimming again late in the day, even after I had already cleaned the whole yard, washed all the towels and put everything away.  I made a big dinner, which I don’t do often. 

At one point, I had the TV on the background, which is really rare, and you can imagine my surprise when I heard the very first note of the intro song for Max and Ruby.  Oh God how that hurt.  And it hurt even more when I saw the excitement in Gavin’s face.  He gasped, “It’s Max and Ruby!!” and he jumped down from the kitchen table, abandoned his super heroes and started watching it. 

Max and Ruby filled the house today, two episodes back-to-back.  It was the very first time I allowed that show to play in this house since Ty died.  I tried to snuggle up next to Gavin and watch with him at first, but that was simply too much to bear.  I smiled to hide the hurt, I scooped him up, reminded him how much Ty loved the show and I put him down in Ty’s coveted corner spot on the couch.  I stepped out on the porch, listened to the show, remembered all of the DVDs that are sitting on the top shelf of Ty’s closet because I couldn’t have them around anymore, and I cried.  Just for a few minutes, and then I felt better.  I guess I really am getting better at this. 

Ty meets Max & Ruby = Best. Day. Ever.

At his dad’s eulogy our friend described his father’s fight against cancer as one that defied the odds and he talked about how every day with him was a gift.  Even the most painful days.  It’s so wrong that I have to nod in agreement about my own small son, only five years young, but there is something so very true about understanding how special our time was together.  His life, however short, was filled with miracles and beauty.  I am so blessed and lucky to be his mom. 

This boy scattered sunshine wherever he went.  I have been watching videos and looking through pictures all night long.  Spending time with my Ty.  This one is just before he was diagnosed.  “I do art!”  So cute, and so simple.  I miss that voice!  I just love him with every ounce of my being.  Never has a love been greater or bigger or better, more pure or more beautiful.  Goodnight my sweet angel baby.  I can't wait to see you again. 

God how I wish I could go up to bed and find this again.