In a few days it will be two months, and I feel alright.
I have been waiting to say that for what feels like a long, long time. I’m alright. I’ll be alright.
I will always miss my son with this near-constant dull ache, I think. I had to dig through the bag of stuff we’d displayed at his memorial and the sight of those onesies I had made for him brought tears to my eyes. I really, really had looked forward to sharing my life with him. There was, there remains so very much I had wanted for our lives…
I will be alright.
Each day brings a new set of challenges. I am about ready to resume my full schedule at the Day Job, and yet it remains a difficulty: though the dread of my work day has lifted, the tears linger. I am reminded, daily, of what I never had. Call it a hazard of working in a place where mothers and fathers and children are welcome, call it whatever you like, but every day it picks at the edges of that emotional scab I’ve formed until I have to excuse myself to the Ladies’ room for a few tears and kleenexes. Yes, it is rough and oh-so unfair, but it is my life now. I must deal.
I will be alright.
I will be alright because of the little things: my love for my husband, my music, my friends, and the kind acknowledgment from that lady I barely know. She came in to make copies and asked if she had heard right, that I had a baby. And when I told her what happened, she took me in her arms and cried with me before asking me his name. She asked me his name. Do you have any idea how wonderful that was? She wanted to know. She wanted to hear about my son, Michael. He wasn’t just a figment of my mind, he wasn’t just a statistic, or a tragedy. In her eyes, he was real, as real a person to her as he was to my husband and I.
She was the first person to have asked, honestly, genuinely, and unflinchingly. She made that ugly, tough day alright, and slowly, I am coming to realize that I will be alright. The clouds and rain will clear off some day…
I am almost ready to put Michael’s box of remembrances away. Not yet, but soon. The pain is fading, and eventually I will be able to file my memories where they belong, where they aren’t ruling my every breath. Eventually.
And that’s alright.