One Winter Down

I was glad to have the record-breaking snowfalls. It gave me the much-needed excuse to stay cloistered. I wanted the world to just stop and it seemed to for a while. We were blanketed in a clean, quiet whiteness that said, "Hush, just hush and heal." I don't know how much healing happened in two weeks, when I'm fairly sure this is a wound that will cripple me for the rest of my life, but at least I had time to be quiet and not have to go out amongst the "normal".

But now we are headed back toward the equinox. It's less than two weeks away. The warmth of the sun is therapeutic- I even cleared a new plot for a garden. It's about 15' by 25', maybe a little larger. Added to what I had last year, in little plots here and there, I should have enough room for corn and beans this year, in addition to the tomatoes, peppers, and squash I put in last year. Grace is saying she wants watermelon, but she's forgetting she'll be gone when the watermelon would come in- late July or August. Yes, I should definitely put in lots (especially tomatoes) to keep me busy freezing in late summer when I'm dealing with another "loss"- my GracieBoo leaving me. She'll be going to basic training after graduation, then DLI in Monterey, CA. I'll see her twice in two years, unless I fly out to her.

I had a counselor once who told me that the world is made up of two kinds of folk: ones who can change and ones who can't. I guess I've always thought I was the former, but I think anyone would be changed by a blow like losing a child, regardless of who or what kind of folk you were before. It's like I'm a lump of clay and the potter didn't really like the first shape I took, and now I've been "thrown" again. Picked up, squashed, and slammed back down on the wheel. I'm spinning, still without shape, aching with the forces being applied. I'd just like to go back to the way it was before. I just want my old shape, my old life, my boy back.

For the first time in my life I am knowingly selfish without apology. It's not as if I am being selfish and could be otherwise, as if I knew better and could change my mood after sufficient guilt. No, I'm selfish because it's a base, gut-level feeling that is undeniable and pure. I just want my boy back. I don't care about anything else. I don't care about the spiritual growth that I may have as a result of this experience. I don't care about the sovereignty of God. I don't care that many other mothers have lost their beloved boys- in war, in accidents, to suicide, to disease. I just want MY boy back. I don't care that David's organs have already been accepted in four other men and that they are going on with their lives and families, that they are healing and going on with their dreams and plans and loves. I just want my boy back.

They say that floods of memories, solicited and not, will come for years, and will be triggers for tears and smiles. The ones I am hit with most often are like bludgeoning tools. I'm in the hospital, beside his bed, the paralytic has been taken off and it's my only chance to "wake" him. They've already told us it's time to let him go and we've acquiesced. It's God's last chance to give us the miracle. I'm slapping David's cheeks, yelling at him, "David, wake up! Can you hear me, Son? Sweetheart, if you can hear me move your eyes. David, squeeze my hand, Son. Look at me Darlin'. Can you hear me, Sweetie? David! David! Look at me, Son! Darlin'! Are you in there? Son!? Oh, God, am I doing the right thing to let you go? Oh, God!" It was the most agonizing, time-warped experience of my life. And I revisit it many times a day.

I wonder if David could hear me. Did he want to respond? Did he try to but was paralyzed? Was he in agony with the pressure in his brain? Was he terrified? Did he feel abandoned by his mom? Did he feel alone? Was he in the dark? Was he trying to scream? Did he hear me when I said soflty, through my weeping, "Okay Son, I'm going to let you go." Did he try to say, "No Mom! Please don't leave me! Don't give up on me!"

When will these questions have answers? Will I be reduced to nothing more than a shell from the energy spent wondering? In the end, will I become the butterfly or the empty chrysalis?