I Remember...

The way he pushed his butt up under my ribcage and straightened his knees out so I could barely breath. Pushing and rubbing on his bottom through the tight skin of my stomach in an effort to get him to relax.

Pacing the floors with him at the hospital in tears because I was convinced he didn't want me for a mother. (because he was crying, as newborns do.)

I remember...

Wincing each time he latched on to my tender breasts, and the way he would only eat until the hunger pains subsided and then fall asleep, only to wake up hungry once again in about 30 minutes.

Him being the noisiest nurser I have ever encountered, even to this day.

The callus he developed on his upper lip.

I remember...

How he wanted so much to be like mommy that he gave up his bottle @ a year and potty trained himself @ eighteen months.

His smile when he woke from his naps and him riding his tricycle down the stairs from the second floor.

The way he escaped from the apartment by precariously stacking the dining room chair, his playschool chair and a couple of phone books to climb up to the deadbolt. Only to be found naked in a mud puddle two apartments down. At seven A.M.... When he was eighteen months old.

I distinctly remember being sure I was the only mother who couldn't keep up with her child or out smart him. Knowing now he was anything but an ordinary child.

I remember....

His first day of kindergarten and him telling the teacher he already knew how to write his name and count. Making it clear she was going to have to do better than that if she wanted to keep his interest.

How his intellect was his gift and his curse all rolled into one confusing bundle for which no child could be prepared.

I remember how sweet he was, how worried he would get if I was crying, as even adults are prone to do on occasion. Especially young mothers who are stressed and trying to grow up with their children.

I remember....

Catching him, his brother Tanner, and his cousin Michael playing star wars in the bathroom. Complete with urine streams as light sabers.

Frequently getting up on Saturday mornings to find the yard mowed and edged just because he wanted let his father and I relax.

Him showing up at my job and throwing me on his back and spinning me around in circles 'till I was dizzy. How we laughed and were completely undignified and how incredibly loved and special I felt.

I remember...

He was such a bright and shining light you would do almost anything to be in his glow. Somehow the world was colder and less hospitable without his warmth, and yet, sometimes he burned so hot it was painful.

I guess the point to this post is.... I remember. The minutes, the moments, the good, the bad and the ugly. I spend inordinate amounts of time spinning the memories 'round and 'round my head in a frenzied fear of forgetting. Perhaps if I start taking a few moments of that time to write them down, a few at a time, I can let go of trying to constantly re-play them, knowing they are recorded somewhere and won't be lost. Perhaps it will take the pressure off of me to be the memory keeper for my five month old grandson who will someday want to know his father.

The gift

I have lost nothing.
Instead, I have been given everything.

If I had to do it all over again knowing the outcome, powerless to change it, what would I chose? I would do it again without hesitation, without reservation. I could do no different. What greater testimony can there be to love? His life was well worth his loss. To have known him, to have held him, to have experienced HIM is the greatest gift I have ever been given. Even as I write this, with tears streaming down my face, there is also a smile.

The first eighteen years of my life was merely preparation to be his mother. He was my reward. I was born to be his mother, I will die still being his mother. His lack of physical presence makes it no less true. The very essesence of who I am was molded by his life, as well as the end of his time with me. I am a better person because of him.

I know his love. I'm no less familiar with it now than I ever was. My love for him is certainly no less. I wish I could continue to see him, yet don't I already know the fabric of his soul? I wish I could hear his thoughts, yet don't I already know what he would say? Perhaps not the individual words, but the essence. My child was no stranger to me. He was a continuation of me.

I knew my son. I saw him. I loved him, I rejoiced in him, I was proud of him, I argued with him, even, on occasion, battled with him. And it was beautiful. I bore witness to his life. So now, I am powerless to do anything other than mourn my loss while glorying in his life. No matter the pain, no matter the longing. None of it matters in reflection of what I was given for 26 years.

Josh is not lost to me, he is in every fiber of my being, every turn of my thoughts, every breath I take. His body as I knew it is gone, yet even in his cremation he became part of the clouds. He is in the sunshine, the raindrops, the new growth in spring. He IS.

I am the luckiest woman I know.

This is what truly matters to me. This is what I wish to share with the world of my child.

Today is not a dress rehearsal.

So what will I do with this one wild life which I have been given?

I will Choose What Matters.

Belief

I walked out the door from work to see my car pulled up just outside, waiting on me, despite having left it in the employee parking area that morning. The dark tint to my windows kept me from seeing the driver, but it was a no-brainer that it was my husband there to surprise me since he is the only one who has keys and he loves to drive my car. I opened the passenger door to climb in, a smile on my face, glad to be done with my work day and to spend time with my husband of twenty years. That's when I realized the face leaning over the center console waiting for me was Josh's.

"Hi Mamasita!", He announced, smiling from ear to ear, but with a nervous quality, not sure what my response was going to be. After all, he has been dead for over four months. No small feat to show up now for a friendly mother-son date.

I freaked. Smooth freaked. We're talking bat-shit crazy, wall-eyed hissy-fit, freaked. I broke down in a way that is certainly not acceptable in public and I couldn't have cared less. I saw the smile fall from his face as he quickly threw the car in park and jumped out to run around to me. The whole time I was crying, no...wailing at him to explain to me what the hell he was doing there.

"No Josh! You can't do this! Your dead, I know your dead! You can't mess with my mind this way! How are you here? Where have you been? What are you doing? Please don't do this, I can't bear it."

I was angry as hell, which surprised me then, as much as it does now. You'd think I would have just been overjoyed to see him, and yes, that was there, but mostly I was angry. Seething mad. As he came to me I was swatting at him to keep away, trying to tell him what a cruel, cruel joke this was, yet he persisted in touching me, hugging me. All the while with his shit-eating nervous grin in place. Josh never did quite know what to do with a crying woman. You could almost see him thinking to himself " Oh hell, what do I do now? She's leaking!" Yet, he stayed by my side and held me, rubbed my back, quietly talked to me, and slowly his words began to penetrate past my hysteria.

" Shhhhh, it's O.K. Mom. I'm sorry I scared you. I'm sorry I worried you all these months. I'm O.K. I'm fine. It's all going to be alright. Please don't cry. I never meant to make you cry. I never meant for you to be so sad. I'm so sorry. Please don't be so sad. I'm fine Mom, I've been fine. I just don't want you to worry anymore. I'm right here. I'm always here. I love you." He repeated these gentle words over and over.

Slowly my heart heard him. It was impossible to deny his presence while enveloped in his arms, breathing in the smoky smell of his leather jacket, hearing the deep timber of his voice, seeing the crooked eye tooth in his smile. Slowly I came to understand the impossible was happening and I was actually getting to talk to my son again for the first time in four months. I was calmed. Comforted. Joyous. I believed him. Believed IN him.

I STILL believe.

Even though I woke up.

I love you Josh.