For Thor - 42 - All the Sorrows

Hey there, baby boy.

I had a rare evening last night, your dad and brothers were all out on their adventures, and I had the house to myself. There are more than a dozen people I could have called to hang out with me, but the opportunity to simply be here by myself is a rare one these days. So, I took it.

The night's agenda included hanging out on the sofa with Lady watching romantic comedies, noshing popcorn and sipping Orange Julius'. As solitude settled around me I realized something. Lately, I've been holding back. I've metered the tears to protect your brothers and your dad from the daily agony of a mother's grief. Last night the tears fell unhindered and unabashed to the background banter of on-screen romances.

Sappy movies have a knack for hitting me in just the right place to trigger a memory or a wave of sorrow. I adore these sweet stories of new found love, lost love, regretful missteps that lead to love, the inevitable heart-baring conversation that reveals tender vulnerability and wide-open futures of happiness. Last night these stories dredged up a host of little sorrows, Thor.

There are the sorrows of my personal regret and guilt. These are a mother's worst torture, testaments of missed opportunity, of misplaced attention. I recall times when I wasn't present enough, and I missed countless little looks or smiles. When perhaps I had been too distracted to pay attention to what you were telling me, and I didn't catch the hint that something was troubling you. I didn't always turn my eyes away from whatever work preoccupied my mind to see - you. I took for granted that things were fine and that we would have time, years and decades to hang out and share the unfolding story of this life. I figured if the Lord gave me a blessing that I would get to keep it. It never occurred to me that you might be a shooting star blazing your way across the expanse of the sky only to disappear over the horizon. 

Your life was cut short, and the sorrows that arise from this fact are overwhelming. All the beautiful things you won't get to do, haunt my imagination. The songs you won't sing and jokes you won't tell. No more summers with friends on the lake and fishing, something you loved so dearly. You won't hang out with your brothers playing video games into the wee hours of the night. You won't be the best man in their weddings. You won't get to help plan their graduation and bachelor parties. You won't be here to choose a girl and become her husband. You won't get to be a father, something you seemed born to do. No more summer evenings singing on the porch with your dad and no more Christmas morning mimosas with me, my darling. 

I looked around at the empty chairs in the living room last night and begged for you to show up and let me hear you say, "Hey, Mama." Just drop in and tell me hello, tell me you are fine. Tell me its all been a terrible mistake and that you're coming home. It's just so fucking sad you know, that you died and broke my heart.

I try to make the most of each day, Thor. Some days are better than others and some days are full of sorrow. A million little sorrows dart about like tiny fish in the Sea of Grief. They make the Sea effervescent as they school, dashing in and out of my vision. They are part of the story of mourning your death, and so I treasure them.

All the sorrows…

I love you,

Mom