Today is heartbreaking in so many ways. As we work together on the office, I know this is likely my last home improvement project with Aubrey for quite a long time. With the mp3 player blaring and dust flying, I am hoarding every second of her random vocalizations, her quiet but purposeful sweeping, her step by step as she follows whatever organizational list she has in her head. Aubrey is my decorating buddy, the one who sees what I do (most of the time), when I’m choosing colors that other people think are crazy. She knows exactly when to hold the door, which nails to pull, where the ziploc bags are for the hardware. She’s the one who assembles the IKEA furniture (with her eyes closed, no joke), crawls under desks to plug in wires, and climbs the ladder to do the hard stuff at the top of the wall.
Just as I’m learning to deal with the impending loss of my daughter, I am still dealing with the loss of Isaac. To every single one of you who is right now thinking, “Oh for God’s sake woman, get over it, he wasn’t your kid,” I say with the deepest love and respect, fuck you. That’s like telling someone who loses an adopted baby to SIDS to get over it because it wasn’t really their kid. I’m sorry, but when you stay up worrying about them, take care of them when they are sick, and go pick them up in the middle of the night when they’re hurting or in trouble, I think that gives you the right to miss them, and every right to grieve the loss of them from your life.
In a perfect example of wherever you go, there you are, I thought that moving would help me to heal. I thought that not having to walk around the house seeing his ghost in all the rooms would make all the memories fade. Not so. Not that it’s made it worse, it just hasn’t made it better.
It doesn’t help that I desperately NEED to talk about it, I NEED for someone, anyone to validate these feelings, this grief, this overwhelming sense of loss. I need just one person to say yes, you’re right. You’ve suffered a loss and you have a right to grieve. Cry, scream, yell, fling things around, get angry, cuss, let some of that grief go. Instead, I’m not allowed to talk about it, not allowed to feel it, without the lectures of “it’s time to move on, let it go, get over it.”
I guess that’s the flip side of sadness to the coin of Aubrey’s looming departure. It’s such a final gesture. That’s it. He’ll be gone for good, because it’s not like he’s going to chase after her to Massachusetts. He’s certainly not going to come looking for her here, mainly because I don’t even think he knows we moved. I know it’s time to move on, let go, get over it. But for the moment, I’m just going to cry for a while, fuck you very much.
“My mind wanders through all that I’ve been hiding from, I tried not to let you down,
Now I wonder if I’ve been doin’ something wrong, Help me get my feet back on the ground”