Saturday, May 12, 2012

Now, What? Letter to Zach

Red roses: Your daddy and me. White rose: You.
Dear Zachary,

I didn't cry at your funeral a whole lot... that was surprising.
I was expecting to cry as if I was the main character of a Mexican soap opera. I guess that I still have a hard time believing what just happened.

This Sunday will be mothers day, and it would be exactly two months without you. You know me though, and you know that the grandiose things like that don't hit me as hard as the little random ones; now those are though.

It hurts me deeply when I have to tell the people at the daycares ( Yes, plural. I had you wait listed in at least tree, because your mom likes to have plan A, plan B and plan Z.) that we won't be needing their services now because you happen to be in the best daycare of the universe with Jesus and his legion of angels. It's hard to call the insurance companies, to cancel your follow up appointments and to call the medical supply company to pick up your equipment. I bet that I can speak for your daddy here, and tell you that it was extremely hard to take your car seat out...

I really got to love you for who you were and I learned to love all the things that made you our boy. With that said, it's still heartbreaking to go to the grocery store and see boys around your age blinking, breathing without help and even daring to move their wrists and feet as if there was nothing to it, even crying and trowing a tantrum! I can't help but stare almost in a freaky scary and rude way, and your daddy is afraid that I might just take one of those kiddos home when nobody is watching. Sometimes I wonder if someone would notice at all and if it would be illegal. Who knows.

I know that the moms that receive my stares have two reactions:

1. This woman is crazy, why is she staring at my child like that? She's freaking me out, I better get out of here.

2. They act very apologetic and  may think that I'm probably judging their mothering skills. They even say something along this lines: -I'm sorry that my baby is acting up, he skipped his nap.

The only thing that I get to tell (specially to mom #2) is: -He's a beautiful baby and he's just doing his job. All that with a fake smile included. If they just knew... the other day I found your bracelet of your last hospital admission buried in my purse, and I broke down. What am I supposed to do with that? What do I do now with all this diapers and baby gear, with all this love and specially with this aching empty arms?

Everyone now puts me in this early sainthood place like I'm supposed to do something meaningful, and it's so hard because sometimes I don't even want to leave my bed or the couch for that matter. I like to think that you are watching over us now, sometimes I see it in the other boys, in the grace and respect that so many people has shown us during this journey, and in all the awfully convenient parking spots that I happen to find in the most crowded places. I know that you watch over your daddy too, but Zach that's not how it was supposed to be! We were supposed to teach you stuff and to watch over you, not the other way around.

I miss you so much boy, I really do and I have no idea how I will move on.

Te extraño pulga con pancita, I miss you my Zachary Owen.





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