The words just resonate with me:
What's left of me.
I feel like I go about life these days with what's left of me and nothing more. I could try to make it better with the pretticisms that well-meaning folk try to toss my way, but it's still my bitter, cold reality. Maybe I'm an awful person for it, but the thought of Heaven doesn't make it better. Maybe if I were a better person it would. But it doesn't. I still lost my son nearly six months ago. I didn't get to see him turn 6 last week. I didn't get to kiss him at bedtime tonight or sing him You Are My Sunshine. Nothing makes that better.
I'm broken in a way that can't be fixed, at least not in this realm. I'm not who I once was. I'll never be that person again. She died along with Logan. Though she looked like me, talked like me, had my sarcastic sense of humor and my broken-at-least-twice-by-the-kids nose, she wasn't me. It's probably pretty creepy, but a moment ago, as I typed that last sentence, I considered writing a eulogy for that person. A lot of you didn't know her personally. Did you know that she never missed a spelling word --ever-- in elementary school? Or that she took dance for 14 years? Or that the only thing she ever truly aspired to be was a mom? Did you know that she had an affinity for peanut butter and chocolate ice cream? Or that she had really awful allergies? That she suffered with health anxiety for years, and just as she seemed to get it under control, she discovered that her son, who she loved as much as any other person on the planet, was critically ill with a horrible disease? Did you know?
She wasn't, by any means, perfect. But she was me. Some days, I miss her. I miss feeling like praying had a point. I miss feeling like God would take care of my family and not let awful, horrific things happen to people I love. I miss being able to be genuinely, fully happy for an entire 60-minute block of time. I miss glee and joy. I miss being able to connect with other people, because as much as other people may try, they just don't understand. And those who do... I can't handle being around them. Not now. The collective pain of loss is just too strong. I miss being more patient and understanding. I miss feeling like I can be honest about how I feel --about what's true-- without worrying that I'll offend someone. I miss a lot of things. I miss her. It's hard to be What's Left of Me.
Anyway. That sounds a lot more depressive than I'd intended. But it's true. All of it.
And I feel compelled to add something here, so bear with me. I can't give Logan a hug or tell him I love him. If there's someone you need to forgive or to whom you owe an apology, don't waste time. Don't get caught up in the crap of the past. Even if you think you're over it and it doesn't affect you, unforgiveness --either the kind that you hold in your heart or the kind that's held against you when apology is withheld-- is toxic. If that person is still alive --if you are blessed enough to be able to find closure-- do what you need to do to let it go. Today. I can almost hear the protests... But you don't understand how AWFUL this person was... Nope, maybe I don't. But I do know how awful it is to not be able to say what I'd like to say to someone who's gone.