What I know

What I know…

“No man owns his own life. Part of you is always in someone’s else’s hands.

-Jaime Fraser

What I know…

I’ve said this before but it still rings true today, the toughest thing about this is to know you can literally survive the loss of your child and that fact is something I struggle to live with every day. Part of me died that morning but part of me wishes that ALL of me just extinguished right along side him in solidarity. Living after the loss of part of who you are is gone, something you made and nurtured for 20 years, something you love more than yourself, is crushing.

And, I’m alive. Guiltily. Unbearably.

After a year I know that things change. My days for so long were enveloped in his loss. Every moment of every day was Truman. I was in a thick fog and never wanted to leave it but at the same time just wanted relief. It hurts worse than you could ever imagine. You want so badly to not be in soul crushing agony for just one moment but the second the light lets in you curse it away. How could you smile after this?! How dare you feel even a glimmer of hope! I berate myself for feeling even a fraction of what I longed for. I need to get stronger but then I don’t want it. I feel like living a life clouded in Truman’s loss is my path now. How could it not be? And then, I know I should feel hope. I should live my life so well that when I meet him again I have so many amazing stories to tell him. That when we are together again I can run up to him and say “Guess what I did?! It was so fun!” And we can share our memories together.

I know my path is the latter. And that knowledge is so heartbreaking.

After a year,

I know I miss him more and more with each new day.

I know what it’s like to cry every day for a whole year.

I know what it’s like to have extra leftovers, one less pile of laundry, an extra car in the driveway and all the other remnants of a life cut too short. I know what it feels like when someone asks how many children i have.

I know what it’s like to walk past his bedroom every day. To have his possessions get dusty. For his things to lose his scent.

But

I know what his voice sounds like. I know the way his skin felt. His hands. His arms. And I would always try and cup his butt. 😂 He hated it. So i know what his butt feels like in my hands. I laughed and loved it. He hated it. I can still feel how soft his hair was and the warmth of his huge hugs and what it looked like to look up at his 6’3”almost 6’4” height because I savored every moment with my children. I knew what I had everyday. I soaked up the little things and for that I am thankful!

I don’t want to live one more gray moment without him

But

I can’t live in any more loss. I can’t live without our girls or Theo, so, I try every day to live with hope. Hope that I do one day get to hug him and squeeze him and never leave his side again.

Hope that my days continue to get lighter. That I continue to get bigger and stronger to accommodate this tremendous weight while still living a life with whatever joy looks like now.

Hope that Jeremy and I live a long life full of love despite almost every fiber of my being protesting it and telling me to shrivel up and die with him. Everyday after this one year mark I assume with be filled with contradictions. That with every moment of hope comes sadness. That every moment of love comes desperation. This is my life now. Always changing and I know if I continue to surround myself with amazing and supportive people that after my long life I will meet him again and feel a warm hug, his soft hair and hilarious words again. I wouldn’t have survived a year without my girls. Without them I know I wouldn’t be here. If you are going through loss you need to be surrounded with support and that’s all we have. Beautiful people who have endless support for us. It’s made all difference and we wouldn’t be here today without our people. 💞

So, after loss I have love.