54 weeks

Dear Sonzee, 

The weeks are flying by in a manner that feels quicker than record time, I feel like there are just seconds now between my letters to you.  This week we remembered your birthday. I am still at a loss for the best word to describe what February 11 has now become.  We didn't celebrate it, we didn't honor it, we just thought about you and what the day once was, so remembered seems to be the most fitting word.  

Meena went away for her birthday weekend with bubbie and poppop finally.  They went to Great Wolf Lodge and had a great time.  I am glad she wasn't phased that the last time we all were there, so were you.  I wonder if she really even thought about that.  I am torn on if that hurts me or not.  On the one hand, I am so thankful your siblings can move forward, on the other, I hate that they are.  I know to suggest they are isn't exactly the fairest statement to make, because I know you are always with them, but still, it seems so much easier for them.  (As it really should be, but yet it sucks).

Aba has given me the freedom to reorganize the kitchen, so it took me until today to realize the labels on the bottom right shelf of the fridge both still say "Sonzee TPN/Lipids" and "Sonzee Medications/Nurse Paige".  My heart hurt when I read the words and realized why nothing has found its permanent home on that shelf in over a year.  I am fairly certain, like all of your containers being used in Bear Pines, the wording won't ever be erased. (I chuckle when I think what someone will say when/if they flip the instant coffee holder around to see it say "alcohol wipes", or when they read the container drawers that have your TPN storage information written on the front but not the actual contents of what is now being held.) Grief is just weird like that.  I think I would cry for hours if the labels were ever removed, it's bad enough you are already gone.

On that note, I feel like I am starting to truly understand the feelings those in the grief group stated a year ago about feeling like their child would be forgotten.  I didn't understand what they meant.  I remember during one of the meetings I said I didn't have a fear of that happening, but it's funny how 54 weeks can grant you a different perspective.  You won't ever be forgotten, that is impossible, but the brain sometimes works in quirky ways, as does the world.  Your physical presence is gone, so much of you has left our house, it is us who keeps your essence here, but we go out as a family of 6, and you aren't there.  Your seat is absent from the car.  All these physical reminders, gone, and so sometimes I want to wear a shirt that says "There should be another", "Family of 7", "Mom of 3 girls and 2 boys".  I want to make an announcement that you were here so everyone who doesn't know will know, and so I don't have those moments where I get smacked in the face regarding your absence.  

Tzvi had a hockey tournament this weekend. PS: Thanks for helping him score that goal! I know it was you, and I am sure if anyone realized I was crying in a hockey rink over my kid scoring a goal they would have said "umm, alrighty then".  It's in those moments specifically I want everyone to know that I am an emotional mess because I buried you.  Similar to the moment some little (I will leave out the adjective I want to use) kid slammed his body into your brother and sent him flying into the boards and I jumped up and screamed HEY so loudly every single person in the rink looked at me.  It's as if I wait for these games to let bereaved momma bear out...I am torn on whether it's a continued blessing or a failed mission I haven't been thrown out yet by the refs. I behaved, I waited until the other team's parents walked out of the rink to give me time to calm myself because I was legitimately about to go off on them.  I guess year two is starting out with that whole anger stage of grief.

Anyway, my love, it is getting close to midnight.  I miss you so incredibly much it sucks! I hope you are having a great time wherever you are.  We all miss and love you!

Until next week.

Love always, 

Ema