Two Months

Chuchu and Tommy (5.5 months old)

[Today's post is by Milka]

Dear Tommy,

I can’t believe it’s been 2 months.  I don’t like it.  Each day that goes by means that we are one day further away from you.

We didn’t change anything at home since the day we drove to grandma & grandpa’s house on Thanksgiving.  Zuzu, Chuchu and your other stuffed animals are still in your bedroom.  I don’t think they understand what happened.  They miss you.  But papai goes to your bedroom everyday in the morning to open the curtains “with you” and at night to say good night.  Remember that I wanted to wash Chuchu because he was kind of stinky?  You loved putting his nose in your mouth, and there was always a lot of saliva!  Anyway, I’m so glad he never got a bath because his stinky smell makes us believe that you are still here with us.

I hope you don’t mind that today I put away the puffs (a.k.a. “baby cheetos”).  They were kind of stale.  But I promise I’ll buy fresh ones.  Papai eats hummus and crackers everyday just like you both used to.  You definitely got your love of hummus from him!  I see tears rolling down his face every time he eats it; I think he is thinking of you.

I know you must be very busy playing with the other angels but we just want you to know that mamae and papai are here always thinking about you, and you are always welcome to visit us in our dreams.

Filho, nos te amamos muito muito muito!
-Mamae e Papai

Being Mono-Social

I'm not being anti-social; I'm being mono-social.

Lately, I'm finding that large social gatherings are tough.  It's probably expected that a bereaved person feel this way, but now I know why (at least for me).

There is some unwritten rule -- either in my head or in society -- that when in large gatherings you act normal.  That means talking about things like work, hobbies and acting happy.  But that makes me sad because it doesn't acknowledge the hugeness of losing Tommy.  It makes me uncomfortable when I say (either aloud or implicitly) "Yep, everything is fine."  

There is another unwritten rule -- either in my head or in society -- that one-on-one you're allowed to tell the truth.  You can say that things are not ok.  You can be quiet.  And that brings me peace.

Why Remember?

It's pretty obvious that I would want to preserve my memories of my own son.  But I didn't realize I'd have an intense desire to have others remember him and talk about him.

It's not so strange when you think about it.  The immediate family will never forget the loved one; there is never any danger of that.  But the thought that others may is scary and painful for the family.  Why?  Because it calls into question the loved one's very existence, heightening the sense that they are gone.  There is also something surreal (not in a good way) about being in situations where the loved one is never spoken about when normally they would be -- it feels as though you're in some parallel universe where the loved one never existed.  It's quite creepy actually.

I never even recognized how many things are designed to memorialize: scholarship funds, named donations, named races, and pretty much everything named after someone.  So, every time a scholarship is given, every time someone announces an event at a named-park, someone is remembered and they remain with us.

For example, I thought of the funeral and burial process as ways of saying goodbye.  But my goal in both services was to help people know my son and to cement memories of him in the minds of others.  I want Tommy to be remembered...always.

P.S.  After I wrote this journal entry I came across a quote that expresses pretty closely what I've said here; it's good to know I'm not alone.

If you know someone who has lost a child or lost anybody who's important to them, and you're afraid to mention them because you think you might make them sad by reminding them that they died, they didn't forget they died. You're not reminding them. What you're reminding them of is that you remember that they lived, and that's a great, great gift. --Elizabeth Edwards

New Year's Eve

Today we have a guest post by Milka (she writes to Tommy).

New Year’s Eve was particularly hard.  It’s hard to say goodbye to 2012.  I told papai that I feel like time just stopped on that Thanksgiving night.  Everybody else's lives went on but mamae and papai are stuck on that day.  As crazy as it sounds though, we are not ready to say goodbye to 2012 and start a new year.  Despite what happened on Thanksgiving night, we had a great year with you.  The best year of our lives.  We feel so much joy when we look back and remember all the good times the three of us had together.  And we are not ready to say goodbye to that, especially because you are not part of our future from now on.