For Thor - 46 - Mother's Day is Coming

First May - near Mother's Day 1997

I think there may be nothing sadder than a mom on Mother's Day, who's lost a child. This holiday once imbued with hope, love and appreciation, looms on the horizon still a week away and yet it already weighs on me. It is at once a concrete slab on my chest, a hole in my soul, a dagger in my heart. I'm thrown back to the agonizing pain of the first weeks after you died, Thor. That biting, deep, raw sorrow is here, again. The only difference is that time has passed and I've gained a tiny bit of perspective.

The first Mother's Day I celebrated was when I was still carrying you; Dad bought me a bright pink and yellow tie-dyed tee-shirt from the beach shop in Top Sail - a Mother's Day gift for the mom-to-be. I wore that shirt every day after, it seemed. It was roomy and lightweight. A good thing for a pregnant mom in the Virginia summer. The first time we marked this holiday after you were born was something truly unique. You and I were inseparable the first two years of your life. My sun rose and set in your cornflower-blue eyes, and I am pretty sure you felt the same way about me. I loved the way you insisted that I put you to bed and that no one else could do it. Even if I was tired and drained, you needed me, and I went to sing and cuddle you to sleep.

Tie-dyed shirt - my first Mother's Day gift for Mom-to-Be before you were born. 

I knew you so well. A thread of consciousness connected us from the very first moments. I knew what you thought like we were synched on a psychic level. Your mind mirrored mine. We reasoned the same. We saw the world the same way.

As you grew and learned to walk and talk, you and I had the most fantastic adventures and conversations. Sometimes we would explore outdoors and sometimes we would play in the house. You liked everything from Play-Doh to monster trucks. You loved to go fishing in Pap's pond with your Snoopy pole so we'd do that when the weather was fine. We went everywhere together, you and I - for years! We ran errands, did the grocery shopping, went to DMV and doctor's appointments. We had countless lunch dates at Wendy's or McDonalds. Early on, you grew to appreciate the vast array of music that I listened to; we'd jam to tunes, and you'd sing along from the car seat behind me. You loved living life, and it showed. Everywhere we went, you made friends with the checkout clerks, waiters, nurses, mechanics - anyone who took a second to look in your eyes was a goner.

I dug all the way to the bottom of the box of photos today and turned up the most precious memories of you and all of us who love you. The pictures of your and your three girl cousins are especially wonderful. It's no wonder you have an appreciation for strong women thanks to the fabulous females in your family. Picture after picture captures that heart-light of yours shining brightly through your eyes and in your smile. You were a sweet, smart, precocious, beautiful young lad. You grew into an intelligent, witty, charming and extraordinarily handsome young man. My gosh, Thor, I've been so proud of you so many times it's hard to remember them all. I like that I am proud of you for the little, thoughtful things you did, too, like texting your Pap and swinging round to visit Nana and Grandpa or helping a neighbor stack her firewood or hanging out with a friend who was feeling low. Your beautiful, caring heart shined through to light up so many lives. But mine was the first.

Play-Doh fun with mom and Nana

Beautiful, happy baby!

Checking out the Harleys, cuz why not?

The girl cousins - now we know why there is so much Shania Twain in your playlist!

Amusement Park fun...or not?

Going fishing!

I just love this one! What a sweet smile!

Ice cream and a carousel - what's not to smile about!

When you were born, I was transformed instantly into a new person. I became a mom which was a role I had started to think I would never play in this life. You, your birth, did that to me. Your precious brothers came later, and they each have my whole heart, just as you do. But you will always be the first one to light up the part of me that is a mom, the first to captivate me so.

Mother's Day is coming. There is so much to be grateful for, Thor. Your brothers are here, healthy and hale. I see them every day, living their lives, making choices and continuing the journey into manhood. It brings me joy to see them growing into themselves, just like I enjoyed watching you step into your life. But it's hard to stay grateful when sorrow is so ingrained. Moms must be a little bit greedy when it comes to our kids. We want it all. We want it to last forever. We never, ever want to see it end. Our plan is to leave before you so that we don't have to stick around and see the end of your life. That's the way it's supposed to be, you know. Not like this. This is screwed up.

One time we went shopping for some new clothes a few years back, I think you had just turned sixteen. We found the perfect shirt and tie to complement your date's dress for one of the many dances you attended. I don't think you missed a single one after 8th grade! Anyhow, as we came to the checkout counter, we passed the jewelry displays. There, in the middle of a case of men's chains, was THE chain. You pointed it out to me saying that was the one you wanted. I nearly died when I saw it was $600. But there was a 50% off sale going on and I had an additional 30% off coupon…so I said yes and bought that chain for you. There are many times when I know you were jubilant in life, and a few times when I thought you were ecstatic. This was an ecstatic moment. I don't think your feet hit the floor for weeks. Getting that chain did something, too. It's like you grew up overnight, going from young teen to late teen. The foreshadowing of the man you would be became more defined with the simple donning of a necklace. It was as if I gave you my blessing to take the next steps to being a man when I clasped that chain around your neck. As far as I knew you hardly (if ever) took it off and took great care to keep it safe. This impressed me since I'd seen you lose boots, jeans, jackets, fishing gear, camping gear and a whole host of tools over the years. The fact that you had never lost that chain said a lot. I wear it now. Before the casket closed over you and I laid eyes on your sweet face for the last time, we took the chain from your neck, and Dad clasped it around mine. It hasn't come off since, and it won't.

I have mixed emotions about the time we bought your truck. Seeing as it is the chariot that you drove to your new destination in the angelic realms, I kinda hate that fucking Chevy. But then again, it was your pride and joy, so I can only be so upset with it. It was a good day when we got it. What a blessing to be able to buy that truck with you. When we picked it up (another ecstatic moment), you were so excited and sweet. You couldn't wait to get in that truck and go show it off to your friends. I think you grew a foot in height the second you slid behind the wheel. But there was more than just excitement; I could see in your eyes how much it meant to you that we were able to help you get you the truck you wanted. You were grateful, none of that entitled affliction that so many young people have these days. Once again, I watched you turn another corner, and you took a few more steps toward your independence and living your life as a grown man. It was a privilege to be able to help you out in the transitions, sweetie. Even if it was hard to do. It's tough growing up, needing your parents but needing independence, too. I hope I got the balance right, Thor. My hope is you noticed that I tried to let you make your way, and I only nudged you when there was a need.

I was always worried that I would nag too much so you'd not want to come around. And then I worried that you weren't getting some much-needed advice, and so, I'd go ahead and say something anyhow. Sometimes you'd take it in and sometimes you'd hop in that truck and take off. At least important words were not left unsaid, I never let you leave without an "I love you!" We have to let our kids make their way, even if it means they end up making their way back to heaven. I have to remember this so that I don't suffocate Chaz and Xan under my fear of losing a precious child, again. They deserve to have me walk beside them for as long as they want me there, and then I'll walk behind them when it's their turn to step out on their own. I'll support them when they need it and hopefully become a trusted friend and ally. (Something you and I came to share in the last year of your life.) My love for each of you never wavers, it is constant and growing in this life and beyond. Yes, I love you still, my darling, even as you continue your journey into other realms. It's not for the faint of heart, this kind of love.

Mother's Day is coming, Thor. The first one without you here. I'm trying to sit with the pain, feel the sorrow and even savor this Year of Firsts, as cracked as that sounds. Next year, the birthdays and other milestones will sting less. I suspect I will miss the sharpness of this pain then as you will be even farther away in time and space from us at that point. At least this is the advice that Aunt Radha has shared with me, and she knows something about loss, so I believe her. I tell you what, Bubby, it would be super awesome if you could drop by on Sunday for a visit, okay? I'll be looking for you by way of a sign. Make it a whopper, okay?

I love you,
Mom