My sister has four kids, my brother has five, and I had three. My mother always tells people she has 11 grandchildren. I say I “had” three kids and let people hear it as they will. If they notice the past tense, I tell them my youngest son, Aaron, died. Sometimes people ask about the details; sometimes they don’t. I take it as it comes. I just want people to know he existed, ya know? He will always be a part of me, and his death is what made me the way I am now.
A little over a week ago, we celebrated our daughter, Jennifer’s, high school graduation. Jen has Asperger’s Syndrome and Pervasive Developmental Disorder, two high-functioning forms of autism. She is not normally an emotional person and seldom just bursts out into true joy. Her face when she came off that field will always be one of my most precious memories. She was beaming from ear to ear, proud of herself, excited about being the center of attention, and overjoyed with life. I was so happy for her; all I could do was run to meet her and hug her and weep and just not want to ever let go.
After the ceremony, we gathered together and my beloved friend, Jess, took pictures of our family: me and Max, Travis, Jen and Sandra, and our two grandchildren, Kadence and Aidan. I love this picture; I printed out a copy and have taped it by my desk at work. It is the wallpaper on my computer at work and my laptop. I’m not lying, I really DO love this picture. But every time I look at it, I swear, I can see Aaron’s face beaming down on us from heaven. Then, the sadness just overwhelms me. People take family portraits with all their kids. I would give my own life to have a picture of all three of my kids together.
June 11, 2001 is the 21st anniversary of Aaron’s death. He died four days after his 2nd birthday. Today is his birthday; he would be 23 years old now. Every joy in my life is not haunted, but touched by the fact that he is not there to share it with us. Where would he be now? His cousin, who is six months older, is a helicopter pilot. My sister and I used to talk about how would grow up together. His brother is a daddy now, with a gorgeous wife and two beautiful children. Those kids will never know their uncle Aaron. His baby sister has just finished high school and is going on to college. Jen never even got to meet her brother.
I don’t treasure Jen’s accomplishment any less because of Aaron’s absence, but the pain today is acute because we miss him so much at events like this. Travis’ graduation and wedding, the birth of the grandkids, Jen’s graduation—he is always absent. We will always miss him. He will ALWAYS live in our hearts.
There are people out there who think you should stop grieving after 21 years. Maybe with your parents, or a sibling or a friend, their birthday will pass or the anniversary of their death, and you will remember them and be sad they have moved on. These people are your history, we accept that we may lose them to death over time. But with your child? When you lose your child, you lose the future of your family. Your family is forever incomplete. No family portrait, no Christmas, no holiday, no wedding, no graduation, no birth, ever includes your whole family again. So, if you’re one of those people who believe that sort of thing; just believe what you want. I would not wish for my worst enemy to walk these steps and have this pain. Other people’s beliefs are their own, I can’t change them and don't try to. Just don’t berate me for feeling my feelings.
Today, my heart hurts so bad; all my feelings are sad. I can remember the touch of his hair, his smile, even how he smelled. I remember how he always called me “daddy” even after he could say mama. I remember the food fight with his brother when they threw pasta at each other and redecorated the kitchen. I remember how Aaron was afraid of the vacuum cleaner, and how he walked up and punched it one time after Max vacuumed. I remember how he loved his Nonny and carried it everywhere and we lost it once at NASA and ran all over the place in a panic to find it. I remember tucking it under his arm as he lay in his coffin. I remember the first time I cut his hair and he pointed at the hair that fell and said, “boo boo?” and then cried and wouldn’t let me finish. I remember Travis playing ‘piggy’ with Aaron’s toes, and Travis telling me he was gonna throw that new baby away cause it was a pain. I remember Aaron’s song we taught Travis to learn how to spell Aaron’s name. I remember nursing Aaron at the zoo in Houston when my sister and I went there one day. I remember him grabbing my hair spray can every morning as I got ready for work and banging it against the walls cause it made a great noise. I remember waking up the morning he went into the hospital cause he was throwing something at me, and later I found it in the bed. I still have that little green marble in my jewelry box. I remember blowing bubbles for him and Travis, and how they laughed when the dog bit the bubbles. I remember how he used to thump his feet in his crib as he was falling asleep; I heard that thump for months after he was gone. I remember him in my sister’s pool and joking about how we’d have to drain the pool to get him out, cause that’s the only reason he would ever get out of the bathtub. I remember taking him on the swings at T.C. Jester park during his brother’s baseball practice. I remember his beautiful face the day he was born.
And, I remember that first seizure in March of 1990, and the last seizure in June of 1990, and every single fucking day in that horrible hospital, living each minute looking and praying for some sign he would wake up and be Aaron again. I remember the moment I realized he never would and my knees weakening and the world swimming around me and going black and thinking I was going to faint for the first time in my life.
For a long time, our world was black. They say time heals, but it really just teaches you how to better manage the pain. The pain never really goes away, you just learn to bear the weight. I didn’t hide my tears today. I just let my eyes keep leaking. Those tears and my pain are a tribute to the love we have for him. Aaron was my precious son, and my love for him will never go away. My mind will always see that empty spot where he should be. Sometimes, I can see it and smile because he was such a happy little guy and I know he’d be smiling.
But today, that spot is just empty, and my eyes won’t stop leaking.
Mama loves you sweet pea!
