This time last year Owen’s funeral would be over. Everyone has left the church. Owen’s body back at the funeral home, awaiting cremation. I would have been headed over to the Delafield Brew House for dinner. My family was already there waiting for us.
So many new emotions this June 1st. The boys and I had an outing to the Dollar Store then we headed to my brother’s baseball game. It was a light-hearted day.
Funny how one anniversary can have so many days of significance. May 21 – the day he stopped breathing. May 26 – the day he was declared brain dead. May 27 – the day he gave his heart and liver to two little girls. Now the day that we celebrated his life – June 1.
People act like the day has come and gone. May 26. Six days ago. But the anniversary drags on just like the entire ordeal did last year. I am still reenacting each memory, play by play. It doesn’t help that my anti-depressant meds weren’t refilled in time. I’ve been without them for three days. I makes me feel all out of sorts. Heck, I was catching up on Sister Wives and found myself feeling like I wanted to cry because the love they have for each other was so beautiful. Thank goodness they came in the mail today! I should be back to “normal” in a few days.
The one thing that I have learned is that omission hurts worst then the truth. Saying his name is comforting. Pretending like my son didn’t just die cuts me to the core. It forces me to pretend to be someone else. It hangs in the air over any other conversation we are having. I find it hard to concentrate on what you are saying because all I can hear is the little voice saying “Doesn’t she know? Has she forgotten? Or is it that she just doesn’t want to say anything? How can she sit here and complain about her hard day at the office, while I cared for two 18 month olds while battling the flash backs of giving CPR and laying the paul over my son’s casket?”
Ask me how I’m doing. Remember to say his name. Acknowledge that Owen died this time last year. I promise not to get all wishy washy. I promise I won’t bring down the mood of the conversation. I just want to know that you remember. You ask me how my other kids are doing … just let me know that you still see me as a mother of four. Because that’s who I am.