Hope...

I was at the hospital today for meetings, Aaron, and I saw someone I used to work with. He asked how you were....

I felt bad. I didn't realize he hadn't heard. But I guess that's part of the nature of working in a large hospital. Children die, and not everyone knows. 

And then I also saw one of your favorite RTs, and an ED doctor that had helped you.  I miss those people! I miss talking with them, working with them. I reached across the desk to grasp the RTs hand and she retorted, "Oh, no you don't! You get a real hug!" and came around to where I was. 

I love being there; I'm so grateful I still get to serve there. Yet another blessing you brought to my life. Thank you. 

Then I went to Michael's track meet. I haven't been able to get to one yet because they're always on Tuesdays, when I'm working. But JV Regional was today, so I could. He got his personal bests in all his events, and took 2nd in long jump! 

He's amazing, and he misses you. He paints a blue ribbon on his arm and wears your initial around his neck. It's his ways of honoring you, of remembering you, of keeping you close. Do you lend him your wings? He was your legs, and voice during your life, do you now help him?

He told me later that his first jump, his longest ever, was 18'3", and figures it was because of you: three-18, Trisomy 18, you. 

As I left the meet, I saw messages on the sidewalks. This one really spoke to me. I'm trying, Aaron, and there are times I can actually feel hope. And even when I don't, I have hope that I will feel it at some point again. So hoping for hope? Maybe? 

Tonight Andrew went with me to the Mascot Miracle Foundation Night at the Aquarium. I saw friends, I gave and received hugs, I needed this. But oh, I miss you. We went a few times over the years and you loved it. You loved watching the jellyfish float slowly in the water, the sharks swim overhead in the tunnel, and the penguins diving off the rocks. And the music, the dancing, the people...

Yeah, I think I felt you with me today, especially at the hospital, which was wonderful, but you're still not here.

April 2023 Aquarium night

I miss you, little man.

Love you so much. 

"Hope is the feeling we have that the feeling we have is not permanent."

~Mignon McLaughlin

4 Months, Miss You.

It's been four months today since you left.

Spring has come, new life. 

Yesterday as I got ready to leave work, I noticed that my peace lily is starting to bloom.

Peace...

Do you love your new life? Are you thrilled to be able to run and play and sing? I won't add "laugh" because you did a lot of that here, too. I guess you played, too, but still, you were hindered by your body.

I miss your laugh, your smile, your playful nature.

I went by the cemetery tonight to pick up your things in preparation for mowing day tomorrow. I had noticed before that one of your butterflies was fading. When I got there, Mary had replaced it and added another. Four butterflies, one for each month you've been gone. 

I knelt there and just sobbed. It hurt so bad. 

I miss you.

Tears are in my eyes and emptiness is gnawing my heart.

~Kate Stephens

Fuzzy Socks Remind Me of You

Dear Aaron,

I put my fuzzy socks on tonight. The ones I bought when we were at the hospital in November. So many purchased and worn out over the years; that happens when you're there for 529 days (and nights). These were the last ones I picked up and now I wear them a lot at home, 'cause I don't like cold toes, among other things.  They're soft, almost silky feeling, with rubber knobs on the bottom because hospital floors are slippery. So they were in my suitcase, not my drawer, and I didn't wear them here. Now I do. 

I was released as chorister today, and I have to admit, it hurts a little. I'm trying to trust that it's Father's will, that it's time. But I love leading and I love the focus I have when I'm leading. The Spirit speaks to me through music and it helps. I mean, I'll still be singing the hymns but somehow I don't always focus on them as much when I'm not leading. And the timing...  Well, most wards only have one chorister but because I was never sure if I'd be in church or we'd be at Primary's, we had three and we'd rotate. Now it will be just one again, but I was also back to where I'm not leaving suddenly anymore. 

Change is hard. Missing you is hard. Today things just hurt, again (or still). 

It's been a bit of a busy weekend, and a busy week to come. Yesterday Daddy and I went down to Cedar City to see Sarah and Joseph.  Joseph organized and conducted Rob Gardner's The Lamb of God. Sarah played clarinet. I loved watching him do what he loves, and the music touched my soul. I was struck again at Mary and Martha's faith. I mean, I can look back and have faith in the resurrection because Christ has already risen. That hadn't happened yet, and they still affirmed that they knew they would see their brother again. 

But sometimes, often, that day seems so far away, and as they performed, I was taken back again to your room early on December 23rd where my soul cried for you to return, to return now, for your body to move again and for you to be healed.  

Next week brings more changes. Andrew moves home for the summer on Wednesday, Matthew graduates Thursday and leaves for his last Folk Dance tour on Saturday. Sarah graduates on Friday. Dad is working from home most days now. Summer is coming and in one more month, Michael will graduate from high school and my public school years will officially be over. 

But the house also fills up most Sundays. I miss Joseph and Sarah, but today everyone else was here. Matthew and Kensey are going through his things upstairs getting ready for their move to Wisconsin when he comes back from tour. Andrew and Mary are still hanging around. David left a little while ago. Jonny, Avenlee and Elend have gone home and sometime in the next couple weeks will add another little one. Deborah, Bronson, Linnaea and Barrett were up here too and I got to hold him. Did you guys play together before he came? Are you still hanging out with your next new nephew? 

December 23. You had gone "home" that 
morning and Jonny's family wasn't
here yet, but the rest all came. 

I am so grateful to be your mom ('cause I still am!!) and grateful for your siblings, too. Yesterday, Michael and a bunch of kids from the ward went on a rappelling activity and two adults were injured, one quite severely. It was rough, but Michael handled it really well. I have to think it's because he's been exposed to so many emergency situations that he just kept his cool. But he was also coming home to an empty house 'cause Dad and I were going to be gone until late. In fact, we had considered just staying overnight in Cedar rather than trying to drive back. But when I learned what happened, I was worried about him being alone. One phone call to David and he was on his way to the house. And once there, Bronson also got involved and they all hung out downstairs together. 

It helps my soul to know your big kids have each other to depend on. I have to think that's in part because of you. You brought us together, taught us to pull together, and helped us see that when there's a problem, we all bring what we have to the table to make things better. That's a life lesson that can't be created artificially, not really. 

We miss you so much, but your legacy lives on. It's hard knowing you'll never have descendants to remember you, to carry your line, but still, you have made an indelible mark on our family, honestly on the world. You taught so many; your influence is still here. 

But really, I wish it was you, physically still here. I'm selfish that way. Trying to cling to hope, cling to my Savior. I know He lives, and you will someday too. But right now, I miss you.

Love you so much,
Mama

"Jesus Christ is our hope and the answer to life’s greatest pains."

- Jose L Alonso

Hope, and Who I Am

Dear Aaron,

It's been a few days...

That doesn't mean I haven't thought of you, not at all. In fact, Tuesday morning after a parent meeting for a client, Mom asked me how you were doing. Sigh....

I mean, I guess the truth is that you're doing just fine! Really. Me on other hand...

Well, I think of you all the time. 

On Tuesday morning when she asked, Tuesday evening when I picked up your things at the cemetery, and again when someone challenged us to think of our identity, our intrinsic identity, not just all the hats we wear. I guess you don't actually define me, and neither does our relationship, but all the same, you are definitely part of me. You changed me, for the better, but change hurts, and so does this.  

And Wednesday morning when I discovered that the mound above you was a bit too high and the lawn mower scalped the grass, which meant I made a trip to city hall (I truly love that I live in a small town) and talked to a friend who is also over the cemetery about it. She'll get it taken care of. I need your place to be beautiful, peaceful, and the idea that it will be a dirt patch that gets muddy just guts me all over again. While I was there, I saw a former neighbor who lost her own boy almost six years ago. 

And I thought of you when Facebook memories came up, and when I went by tonight, and frankly, pretty much all the moments in between.

But on the way home, I was listening to music and Hope by Paul Cardall came on. Honestly, his piano music plays almost constantly as it brings me so much comfort. But underneath the music, so faintly that at first I thought I was imagining it, I heard a child's laughter.  A Child. Laughter.  Hope.  And through my tears, I smiled. And cried and smiled. 

You used to laugh so much. I wish I had recorded your laughter but I don't think I did. Like so many moments, I simply enjoyed them because I thought there would be so many more. I was wrong. You really never did laugh again, not much, after February 2022. But in the song, I could hear it, hear you, and it touched my soul to know that you do now laugh. And run. And dance. And sing. And play. And I hope, oh I hope, you bend close and put your arms around me, even though I can't feel them. 

Michael did senior pictures yesterday with cousin Rachel. It really was a lot of fun, and they'll be our last senior pictures (like so many other lasts). Michael always wears an A around his neck for you, and I thought briefly about asking if he wanted to bring it out, let it be seen, but decided not to. I mean, these are his, about him, not about you.  

But then after taking several, he pulled it out. He positioned it in front of his tie, over his shirt, kept it on when we did track pictures. It's there, you're there. You are so, so important to him. And it made my heart smile. 

Your influence goes on. In the hearts of so many, you live on. 

Yesterday as I drove to Provo, I noticed the sun shining on the still snowy peaks, lighting the light blue sky with cotton-candy colored wispy clouds. This world is such a beautiful place. You, my son, are such a beautiful part of it, even if I can't see you anymore. 

I miss you so much. 

I love you so much.

Love,
Mama

The reason it hurts so much to separate is
because our souls are connected.

~Nicholas Sparks

Monday Night

Hey Aaron,

I'm sitting at home alone again (Dad's still at work and Michael is with friends) except the dogs that just opened the back door and came in. Still haven't convinced them that they also need to shut the door...

Anyway, it's super quiet here. I can hear the ice maker clicking away, and sometimes the snick of Sophie's toenails on the tile. That's about it. No whirring of the concentrator, whoosing of the vent. Somehow I still listen for those in the silence. Even at night, I find my ears straining to hear, but only cars outside pass by.

Today's actually been a pretty good day. I mean, it's cloudy and rainy, but we did have some sunshiney days over the weekend, so that helped. 

And yesterday most of the kids were here for dinner, which meant so were Linnaea and Elend and Barrett. Oh, it feeds my soul to have your brothers and sisters, brother and sisters in law, and niblings here. We were just missing Joseph and Sarah, and Matthew and Kensey. And of course you. 

Yesterday in church, Michael bore a powerful testimony of how the Lord is in the details of our lives, and that sometimes when we think something should work out differently, it turns out for the best after all.  Because of a misunderstanding last month, he ended up not competing in a meet that he thought he would, and he had already given away his work shift. But that meant that he was able to go to the temple with some friends instead. And it wasn't just one temple he went to, it was three: Mt Timpanogos, Draper, and then Saratoga Springs. And while he was there, he took time to go to where we all stood for pictures after the tour, and remembered you. 

Aaron, he is so amazing, just like you. 

And I guess I'm trying to feel the same way about you leaving. I have faith in Father's plan, that this was what was needed, but I'm still not quite seeing the big picture, not yet.

I love you, Aaron. I don't know how I was so fortunate to have been blessed with so many amazing kids. Every single one of you are a blessing in my life. I am so grateful.

I miss you.

I love you even more.

Love,
Mama

"The death of a loved one is a sudden silence —
one of those deafening silences that leaves ringing in your ears."

~Terri Guillemets 

Some Days are Hard

Dear Aaron,

Some days are just hard. And there's not a real "reason."

I sat with a sweet friend in Relief Society today and someone else was talking about having her son appear right by her side the day after he died in a plane crash. Honestly, I'm not sure whether my friend asked me, or I asked her ('cause I know I was thinking about it as we listened) if we had felt our loved ones. I think she asked me. I know I said no, I hadn't felt you with me, although I've dreamed about you three times. She said she hadn't felt hers either. 

The teacher asked if we'd ever felt alone, and what we had done, or what happened, or something like that. (I think that might have been what prompted the story.) I just couldn't...

I know I'm not "alone" but it feels like it so often, especially somehow in the middle of a group. 

Anyway, I know I'm not alone. I know God is with me. I know Christ knows what it feels like and understands. I am so grateful for the Atonement and the Resurrection, but still... 

Like I said, some days are just hard.

And this is one of them.

Oh, my baby, I miss you so much. 

The weather is getting warmer, the sky is brighter, and it helps my spirits.

But nothing takes your place or fills the Aaron-sized hole in my heart. 

I just miss you.

Love,
Mama

"This I know: there is nothing as lonely as grief."

~Abby Geni 

Memories

Dear Aaron,

Memories seem to be coming at me. 

Yesterday, Daddy and I went to Westlake's ballroom concert. It caught me by surprise because we don't have kids there, at least as students. But Jonny and Deborah are coaching the team so we went to support them. 

And they actually did a number! It was the second show of the night and doing two shows in one night was more than the special needs dance class was able to handle, so the coaches threw together a couple numbers to fill in the gaps in the second show. Deborah and Jonny looked amazing, and it was so much fun to watch them again.

And then in the senior number, it was almost like watching Deborah, and then David, and Jonny, and Matthew, and finally Joseph dance their final shows. As Jonny announced it and gave tribute to each senior, I heard his voice catch. Coaching is such a labor of love for both him and Deborah. Watching the kids perform, all of them, filled my own soul. 

And I thought about you dancing, how you would dance in your wheelchair when we would go to shows. And you would dance each year at your own dance festival. During the pandemic, they held it online and we sent in video to participate. Now you dance without limits.  

I stopped by the cemetery after and it was dark, 'cause you know that happens when it's 9:30 at night. With the seasons changing, it's now light when I get there after work. But last night, last night it was dark. And your little lights were on, and I could see your place, shining in the darkness, giving my own heart a little lift. I mean, I cried, but I also smiled.

I've been thinking about a couple phone calls I made 14 years ago. One was to a neighbor, and another to a friend I hadn't seen since we were in college. Both had buried babies, boys in fact. I didn't know how to move forward. I was carrying you, and you were so active pretty much all the time. But doctors were telling me that you wouldn't, probably couldn't, live, and I just couldn't fathom how to go on.

I really don't remember much of what either said, but I knew they had somehow survived it, and if they could, so could I. And for almost 14 years, I clung to that.

Now, I live it. And somehow the world goes on. I'm still not quite sure how, and I couldn't tell someone how to survive, but the fact is, it does, and I am surviving, at least I think I am. 

I still miss you dreadfully. Two months from today is your 14th birthday and I don't think there's a day that goes without at least a few tears. But Aaron, you taught me so much, you helped me, you are my own personal angel. What a blessing to have been allowed to know you and love you, and to look forward to when we are together again.

Love you so much, kiddo.

Miss you too. 

Memory is time folding back on itself.

~Garth Stein