Monday, January 31, 2022

104 weeks

Dear Sonzee, 

Today at 1:08pm it will have been 104 weeks since you left us.  Today, 2 years ago was the very last Monday you were here with us physically.  You spent slightly more than half that Monday with us, but the details are still crystal clear all of your last 13 hours and 8 minutes of your life.  In fact, the worst hours of my life were living through your last 48.  I won't say I wish I didn't remember them as vividly, because G-d forbid I ever can't, but no one, especially no parent, should have to watch their child die.  I sometimes wonder what was worse, watching you struggle all of your life, or watching you die.  Sometimes the answer isn't so clear, but watching you die was absolutely horrific and a trauma I won't ever be able to recover from.

This last week your swing was either mistaken for bulk pickup or stolen from the front yard of the new house.  I spent a good portion of Saturday after finding out feeling numb with a mixture of telling myself "it's ok, it's just another piece of stuff".  I wondered if maybe you are really trying to catapult me forward by removing every last trace of your existence?  I am torn between truly believing this is some sort of sign from you or throwing all of my belief in that idea out of the window and just saying f-it, some things are just unfair, suck, and there is no trying to make lemonade out of it!?!?!?  I just don't understand why that had to be taken off our driveway.  I don't understand why I have to continue to lose pieces of you without warning.  To add insult to injury, the new landscaping guys threw out your solar flowers.  At this point, I am throwing my hands up and quitting (while I go to amazon and buy more),

This last week was the first of the beginning of my 3rd year on the inpatient/outpatient PCH PFAC.  I am the parent mentor this year.  I am thankful that throughout your death I have still been able to remain part of PCH in some fashion.  Although, honestly, despite sitting on the committee, I often feel out of place.  I feel like a stranger to a place that was once my home.  It has been over 2 years since I stepped foot into an inpatient room.  It has been over 2 years since I sat in a triage room in the waiting room.  I feel as if my experiences are so distant.  The hospital has come a long way and I am grateful to be in a front-row seat, but I am also feeling after this year I will be ready to hang up my hat and move in another direction. 

I suppose the beauty in counting the weeks is that they aren't just numbers that pass me by.  They are baby steps to moving forward on this unknown journey without you.  The journey you started me on and continue to help me move with.  It hasn't been an easy 104 weeks, and I know the word easy won't ever be one I use in terms of my grief, but the fact that I have continued to push forward without you is definitely celebratory (although it doesn't feel party-worthy).  As we close out another week and finish the last day of the last full month you ever lived I love and miss you more than I could ever have imagined.  104 weeks of a gaping hole with nothing that comes close to filling the dead space.  I can only continue to hope and pray that you have experienced the complete opposite 104 weeks filled with incredible journeys, endless parties, amazing accomplishments, and that all of your earthly constraints have been lifted.  I hope that you are truly at peace baby girl because you deserve it!

Until next time.

Love always, 

The Mighty Contributor

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