When your child dies, there is this new line of measurement in life. Everything was either before or after. The idea is very black and white. It either is or it isn’t. As time passes complexity creeps in. Maybe it’s grief brain, maybe it’s just me getting old, but that line blurs.
We tell stories and reference moments of our lives every day. They are now often accompanied by the statement, “when Cameron was still here”. It provides a frame of reference. That statement is beginning to feel more like a question.
Has he ever really not been here? I ask because even when Cameron was still here (see there it is), I would joke that it felt as if the kids were always here. When I would think back on my wedding, I swear I could picture them there beside us. A vacation for just the two of us somehow felt as if they were there. It is even more difficult to separate our life moments now. Did we go there before or after Cameron? I can picture him in every moment, even where he didn’t exist.
As his mother, I believe our souls are intertwined. He completed me in a way no one else can. Like every other bereaved mother, I made a promise to carry him with me every day for the rest of my life. To live for him, with him. We move forward together. It’s the only way I can continue to survive.
I look for him in every day life. In a song, in nature, around our home, and in my dreams. Knowing he is with me and having him here are two very different things. I yearn for the physical. I beg him for signs because it is the closest I can get to touch.
I was once told, “You will recognize your son in the signs he sends”. That has stuck with me and proved true. The synchronicities I see are familiar to me. I know in my gut when it is Cameron and when it is not.
So the line blurs.
It seems to blur more and more as time passes. Maybe some day that frame of reference will cease to have meaning. I fear that a little bit. I don’t want the real memories to blend or dilute.
Time continues pushing us forward. I refuse to let go…even just a little bit.