This morning I saw a Facebook post from a woman I used to work with. She has a son around the same age as you would be now. He came to visit her and her post was that he jumped in a mud puddle like he used to do when he was little. He did it for the sheer joy of it and to cover his mom with the muddy water. She loved it. I smiled as I read it, but it got me right in the feels. It started me thinking about all of the different chapters of you and how I miss them. Individually, I focus on the stages of your life and how they affected me and what I learned about you.
As a baby, you were as close to perfection as you possibly could have been. A full head of thick dark hair, big beautiful blue eyes and a dimpled chin. No one had to wonder if you were a boy or a girl. Strangers often fussed and smiled at you saying things like “what a gorgeous little man” and “wow, look at that head of hair!”. As a young, first and only time mom, I remember being so scared to take you home from the hospital that I sat in the car and cried that day, hoping that I would somehow miraculously know how to take good care of you. I remember the weeks of no sleep, trying to get you to nurse, making sure you were clean and comfortable. I remember sitting on a step stool in your room, holding you, when your dad came home from work. The look on his face made me suddenly realize that I was still in my robe and that I hadn’t had the time or the energy to shower, not to mention that dinner was not ready. And before I knew it, that first year was gone. I learned that you were going to be more work than I had ever imagined.
That marriage struggled on for another couple of years, but during that time I learned a lot about you, and a lot about myself. You and I went through a time of tremendous growth. We had some huge obstacles to face, and we faced them together. My health took a tragic turn, and in fact, you nearly lost me. But as I lay in that hospital bed for 23 days, the one thing that kept me fighting was that I had a job to do. I could not leave and let you be raised by anyone else. I firmly believed that you and I were a team now and I remember feeling so adamant that no one else knew what you needed more than I did. You gave me the strength and determination to carry on. We needed each other.
You as a little boy. Tiny little jeans. Cowboy boots that were too big but you had to clomp around in them anyway. Little sweat suits with Spider Man or Star Wars on them. Your love of all things Star Wars started early on and never really left. It was in this early preschool chapter of you that your health issues really began. So many ear infections, a constant runny nose and those high fevers had us visiting the doctor on a regular basis. Through those first few years of school, I remember lots of one on one learning to keep you caught up with your peers to the best of my ability. You never seemed concerned. You were always such a go with the flow kind of guy. You never really complained, at least not enough that I would remember it. I thought that after you had your first surgery to remove your tonsils, adenoids and to drain the fluid in your ears that you would be A-OK. And you were, for awhile. I saw how resilient you were and it gave me hope.
You as a preteen. Oh, how I loved this chapter of you! It always made me smile watching you try and figure out who you were. It was fun to frost the tips of your dark hair when that was the style in the late 90s and to see the burst of confidence that it gave you. I remember the silky shirts and board shorts and silver chain. You were so loving to me during those years with your big hugs and I love yous. It was this frosted haired little love that was in my dreams not that long ago, arms open wide, wanting a big hug. You didn’t say anything, but I felt that hug, so thank you for that.
The teen chapter of you was a source of both pride and terror for me. You got your first job the day you turned 15. You learned to drive. You bought your first car. It was during these years that I was at work more than I was home, and trust and responsibility became a huge thing between us. I had to be mom and dad for you. Not an easy task but you always knew that you could ask me absolutely anything, and you did. Because of that, we both learned a lot. I am thankful for your tight little circle of friends. I am thankful that you were such a good boy and that we had a relationship that I could be proud of. This was also the beginning of the surgery chapter as the first was before your Grad in 2009. I was so proud of you, the way you powered your way through the Welding program and your final school year with a determination and strength that made my heart nearly explode with love and pride.
The young adult chapter. So many changes in both of our lives! Randy and I bought our first house as a couple and life was different. Our family circle got bigger. You had a positive male role model. You learned a lot about relationships and how a man should behave. You had a social life. You had a couple more surgeries. Infections. Near misses. You rallied and you survived, even thrived. This chapter was such a struggle. There were periods of time when we relied on each other heavily. I cared for you, worried for you, and you made it through. You moved out of the house. You fell in love. I remember being so thankful that I could still lure you back home with a roast beef dinner and movie night.
The years away from you. This chapter was incredibly hard. We had to move away for our jobs and I hated being in a different Province from you. I know you hated it too. We made the most of our visits but it wasn’t the same. I wasn’t there to help you. I wish with all my heart that I didn’t have to be that far from you for those three years. It will always be one of my biggest regrets. I trusted in the fact that you were in a loving relationship and you seemed happy. I am thankful for that.
The Cancer chapter. This chapter is so painful for me that I can barely write about it, even now. As a mother, all I wanted was to be there for every step of your journey. But you were all grown up, part of a couple, and the two of you did many of the steps of this journey together. I remember feeling so out of the loop and helpless. I didn’t really know the details of what you were going through, the procedures that took place, the team of doctors, the list of your medications. All I knew was what I could hear over the phone, lots of it left out to spare me I’m sure of that. I’m so so sorry that I wasn’t there to go through every detail and every step of this chapter with you. I know you were terrified. You told me in your texts. I could hear it in your voice on the phone. The visits were too few and too rushed to really talk it all through like we both needed. I carry so much guilt and sorrow over not being there with you for every day of those first few months that I know you needed me. As your mom, I was gutted. All I could do was try and reassure you, let you talk it out, and send money. It wasn’t enough. Then, somehow, you were done, and they gave you a clean bill of health and told you to go live your life. I know none of us ever know how long we have left, I was just sure it would be measured in years, not months.
The final chapter. It’s the one in the book of us, where all of the chapters lead us to this moment. We’ve lived, we’ve loved, we’ve learned life’s lessons. When we look in the mirror, we’re supposed to see an old face, lined and weathered by the joys and losses of a life well lived, full of wisdom and stories and the satisfaction that comes with dreams that have been fulfilled, goals that have been realized. The way it happened for you, the way your final chapter was written, was not the way any of us could have imagined. It was not the ending that any of us had planned. The mirror reflected a man weathered not by age but by illness. Lined by pain instead of a lifetime of laughter. This chapter, It left me wanting. It changed me. My belief system, my perspective, my goals and dreams, my everything. This chapter of you brought me back to your side. It’s what we both wanted and desperately needed, and for that I am grateful. This chapter of you is filled with love, overflowing, because it has nowhere to go. This chapter of you has brought me to my knees.
The story should end there. Yet somehow, there is another chapter of you. This is the chapter that continues with me until my story is complete. This is the epilogue. This is where we find out the meaning of what happened in the book. This chapter of you continues with me as I search for meaning, learn all the lessons, live as you would want me to, as if you were here. You are as big a part of this chapter as you were in all the others, and your story doesn’t end until mine does.