6 Months

Sully,

It's been six months since you took your last breath here on earth. It's raining outside. Of course it is. It seems like that is all it has done since you died. I can't seem to escape it. Trust me, I have tried. I tried to run away. I tried to take your Dad and brothers somewhere we could turn our faces toward the sun. We tried the Keys. The wind was fierce and the rains still came. A few months later, I doubled down dragging the family across the country to Tucson, AZ. Tucson, where the sun shines 350 days a year. When we landed the clouds were so heavy I couldn't even see the mountains. And it was raining. Cold, heavy rain. I should have known, right? I mean there was a tropical storm the day of your Celebration of Life. Maybe it makes sense. In so many ways, you were the sun. You were the being we all orbited around. It was always like that. Partially because you were a force of nature from the time you emerged from the womb. Partially because, as my therapist reminds me, a family organizes around its sickest member. It has to. And, little Bear, that was you. For fourteen years we organized around you as the youngest and then as the sickest. And boy do we feel it now. We are trying so hard. So hard. But our orbits are all out of whack. We have lost our gravitational pull. I have tried really, really hard to keep us all from becoming too wobbly but that turns out to be the biggest thing I have been forced to learn through all of this mess - I am not in control of anything. We are all on our own paths in life and, no matter how hard I try, I can not control someone else's path, even someone I gave birth to. Oh how I want to. I want to take the pain away from others, especially your brothers, this awful pain of missing you. You'd be so proud of them Bear. They have a deep well of strength and resilience that I wish they did not have to lean on. But they are. Jack started school and most of the time he lives eight hours away. You'd love it there Bear. They have a whole island that shares your name and every time I visit I cry because you leave me whole beautiful sand dollars to find along the shoreline. You know I can never find whole ones on my own. And Mac, sweet Mac, he went from being the middle child to the only child at home most of the time. And I think he feels a lot like I do. He took such amazing care of you. You were supposed to drive to school together everyday. He was supposed to help you settle in. And he is such a great helper. It's such a lonely feeling Bear.

There is a lonely quietness that has settled here. I looked at my calendar from last March and tried to remember how that felt, the constant going. I used to have to get up so early to get a workout in so I could tackle the rest of a day always filled with kids. School drop offs and pick ups took at least two hours a day, then meetings, and after school? The after school juggle of three kids in year round sports was insane. Practice after practice. Game after game. Food. Laundry. All the coordination of all the things. And now? Now Jack lives in Charleston. Mac drives himself to school and practice. And I try and figure out what it means for me now. What it means to be a mother now. I have not figured that out yet.

It's hard not to feel like the day you left stole the sunshine. Stole the light. I am struggling kid. I tried to hide the struggle while you were here, you had enough to deal with and I wanted to lead with a positive example but kiddo, I am lost. We are getting the Foundation off the ground and you would be so proud of it. I am trying to continue to show up for all the causes and organizations that meant so much to you. But it is so hard without you Bear. You were the driving force. You were the leader. And I am doing it kid. I won't ever quit. I just don't want to do it without you.

When I don't know how to do this, by this I mean live and by when I mean all the time, I think of you this summer. Frail in your body, learning how to walk and regain the use of your fingers after those brutal rounds of chemo when I thought we were going to lose you. I think of how determined you were to get in the pool to do your PT. How long we would prepare trying to make sure you were as autonomous as possible - you hated help if you could do it yourself. Those months were so fucking hard for you. But every day you fought. You put everything you had into every day. You found spaces for joy and laughter. And you were kind. You were so kind Bear. You'd struggle and snap and then, so gently, you would apologize and thank me. You were always thanking me kid. I am trying to live by that example. But it is so hard. How are we supposed to live the rest of our lives without you? I am broken little Bear. Only time will tell if I am broken open or broken down. During that time I will take the gifts you left us and keep searching for the light. I will keep searching because - to quote your 8th grade capstone project - "My personal symbol is the sun. To me, a sun represents hope. It also connects to my theme which is hope and joy." I promise I won't stop looking for that light kid. I promise.