And then something happens…

Just when you think you have come to grip with what has happened, just when you con finally justify it to yourself, and feel your heart has finally come to terms with the injustice of life. Something comes out of the blue, something hits you so hard in the head that your knees shake, your mind falters and your stomach wants to return everything it has inside. Your mind tells you that you need to be strong for others, to retell over and over and over and over and over and over to everyone what it was like, what he was like, who he was, and soon you just can’t take it anymore. To not be able to cry, to be strong everyday, every hour, to everyone. Not having slept in days almost a week is causing a fog to fall over everything. It’s hard to breath impossible to eat. Every time my phone rings I am reticent to pick it up and have to answer another question. Every time I close my eyes I see his smile. Every time I lay my head down I hear him in his artificially high pitch voice talking about Lord of the Rings characters and laughing at me because I forgot Golum’s name again. Every where I go I smell the cacophony of smells from the hospital, the extra strong anti-bacterial soap, the sterile dressings, the food that sits on trays untouched for hours.

I never understood how everyone could get used to the hospital life, the constant interruptions the anguish and fear that you could smell. And yet Ben, Ben made everything into a game. He would relish in the stories we would tell him of the outside world, of pets and weather, of movies and music. He had such patience with his brother and friends that came to visit who didn’t understand the tubes and needles that followed him wherever he went. He jokes about them, never letting them stop him from doing what he wanted to do. As I work on the slide show and see these pictures, it washes over me like a tidal wave. Rarely do you see picture where he is not laughing, smiling, or having fun. That is what a 7 year old is supposed to be doing, not sitting in a hospital bed making 20 and 30 something year olds feel better. And now he is not there, and we need to fill that void and support each other. Like a leg in a stool suddenly gone and now trying to balance minus one. It’s stupid to say its not fair, its pointless to rant and rave to the heavens and above, and its senseless to anguish in front of others. But yet those would feel so good.

Most of my memories of Ben are when he was sick. Spending evenings in the hospital, being there when he recovered from anesthesia, and holding him when he was sick. Yet I have so many great memories of him sharing happiness and joy in the absolute worst of times. I am sorry I didn’t get to spend more time with him before, but I am blessed with knowing him at all. So now I tighten my belt, wash my face, and go out for another day. May it not show on my face and not reveal myself.