My Dear Sweet Turner,
It has been 21 weeks since our last perfect day together. This past week has been so busy and so much has happened that I won’t be able to tel you everything, but I know you already know everything that has happened.
Last Friday night I was able to attend a church meeting just for all the adults. We listened to the speakers and the messages given. One of those speakers, President E M, asked me earlier in the week if he could quote something I had written. Something I wrote about you and what it is like to lose a precious child. I of course said he could and was humbled that he thought to ask me and use my words. All I have ever wanted to do since you passed away is to have your life validated by others. To know other people care about you, know you were our much wanted and a loved child, and know how badly I hurt everyday. To know this pain is something I will live with for the rest of my life. His message was about mourning with those who mourn.
I am so glad I heard his message. I needed to hear it in person. It was such a humbling experiencing hearing him read my words…my words I wrote about you…to the many many people in attendance. I almost felt relief in the message he was sharing. To know these overwhelming feelings of grief I live with each day are completely normal. To know he was telling others this pain is very real and they shouldn’t try to fix it for those of us who know this grief. To just be of comfort and be a friend we can count on. His message was beautiful and I cried the entire time.
While he gave his address I was remembering the moment it was confirmed you had passed away. Knowing we wouldn’t get to keep you here on earth. Knowing immediately that I would eventually have to hand you over, my precious beloved baby boy, to someone I didn’t know. Knowing I would have to live my life without you. My beautiful baby boy.
On Sunday we went to church and heard from some other leaders. The talk that resounded with me the most was of course the last talk. It always seems to work out that way. I had made it though the entire meeting without crying. Then President C R got up and gave a talk on being resilient amidst trials we face on earth. It was a hard talk to listen to. However, I knew it was one I needed to hear in that moment. Being resilient seems near impossible right now. Right now I am learning how to exist with the hope and faith that one day I will feel as though I am really living again.
How can I possibly be resilient and endure to the end without you here? I ask myself that question each day. How do I go one living without you here? It seems nearly impossible that I have managed to keep breathing each day since March 24th. People tell me all the time that I am strong. To me, I am not strong in the least. I am barely holding on most days. I feel as though I am hanging on the edge of a cliff at times.
I wake up because I have your siblings to take care of and they deserve to have a mother who shows them love and adoration each and everyday. They deserve to have a mother who isn’t in shambles every second of the day. They don’t need a mother who lays in bed all day wallowing in her pain and agony. Trust me, if I didn’t have your siblings I wouldn’t be getting out of bed at all. I am NOT strong.
So I wake up everyday. Hoping and praying that this has all been a nightmare and I’ll have my large belly and feel your loving kicks. I’ll wake up and know you are alive and still with me. I’ll wake up and tell your daddy I am in labor and we will rush off to the hospital with such excitement and give birth to a screaming baby. A baby we get the privledge to raise and take care of. I’ll wake up and be leaving the hospital with a newborn baby in my arms and not a tiny box that holds the only earthly items I will ever have of your existence. But that won’t ever happen.
I’m not given a choice on whether or not to keep moving, keeping breathing, keep functioning, keep living. That choice was made for me. So I get up everyday because I know if I don’t my entire family will suffer more than we already are. I get up and face each day with agony in my heart and a soul that silently screams in pain deep within me. But no one ever sees it. I wish they could.
Your dad, brothers and sisters deserve to have a happy life and to experience joy. Maybe someday I will honestly be able to say I experience joy again, too. I know you would want that for me and I know you know I am trying my hardest to figure out how to live without you here. I know you want me to be happy.
My dear sweet boy you have taught me how to truly be a mother. To know what being a mother really is. To really know the capacity and depth a mother has for her children. You have taught me how to be present in everyday moments that used to seem so insignificant and mundane. I truly enjoy every moment I have with your siblings now. Even on the days I want to pull my hair out. You have taught me how to have true patience, understanding, compassion and empathy. You have taught me perspective in all things. Losing you has taught me that nothing else matters in this world other than my family. To truly not focus on things that have no earthly or eternal influence on my family. To let things slide and not worry about the small things in life.
Most importantly you have taught me the power of love. A love that feels as though it flows through my veins with every beat of my heart. For you, for Reagan, for Thomas, for Scout, for Andrew, and for your daddy. The 7 of you are my life. And death will never separate any of us or the overwhelming love I have for each of you. We may be physically separated for the time being, but you are always close by and I will always carry you in my heart. Always a part of me no matter how much time has passed. Always my youngest child. Always my baby boy. Forever.
Love Always and Forever,