My dear son:
Today should have been your 11th birthday. It's the second time we've had to celebrate your birthday without you around. Last year, your sisters helped organize a big party at the church with lots of friends and family, but this year, we're keeping it simple. We'll just be at home, eating some of your favourite foods (at least as well as we can remember, since it's probably been three years since you had much choice over your diet), and doing some of your favourite things (like watching Star Wars, playing Wii games, and reading together). We'll probably cry, but we'll also probably laugh and enjoy our memories of our time with you.
We keep asking ourselves how you would be different now. Would you still like the same things? Would you still be a voracious reader? Would you still be building LEGO contraptions? What games for the Wii would you have begged us to get? Would you have loved the Hobbit movie as much as your sisters have? What new things would you be into that we couldn't guess at now?
We love you, and we miss you terribly. We talk about you every day, and you're always in our thoughts. Happy birthday.
With all our love,
Mom and Dad, Julianna, Mari, Birgitte, and Annika
Monday, September 2, 2013
Kristen was just telling me about another kid we know of fighting an SPNET, about all the surgeries and treatments he has been through, and all the complications arising from them, and the only thing I could say was "Poor kid."
I meant it sympathetically, not sarcastically, but I found myself recoiling at the shallowness of my response. I know something of the hell that this kid and his family have been through - the uncertain future, the painful present, the longing for the trouble-free past. This - "poor kid" - is the best I can give them? They deserve more than that.
But then I realized that I don't have more than that to give right now. That if I let myself feel more than that for him and his family, it'll bring all my grief crashing down on top of me, burying me, destroying me. That saying "poor kid" isn't a sign of callousness or lack of sympathy, but a survival mechanism.
There are too many "poor kids" out there that we have met or become aware over the past three years. There are too many families simply trying to survive the journey of a sick child. The oceans are not enough to contain all the tears that should be shed on their behalf. All I can offer to them now is "poor kid", and a promise to myself that someday, when I no longer need all my tears for myself, to shed some for them.