Dear Friends- It is a snow day here in VA. It wouldn't have qualified back in Boulder, but it still has a nice feeling - first time we could make a snowman since we moved, almost 5 years ago. Playing with Mark outside made me miss Tommy but spurred me to write.
So, here we are, about 5 months since Tommy's death. We've been through many milestones since I last updated in any depth. Suffice it too say that the holidays were difficult. OK, that doesn't really suffice.
Though we enjoyed my sister's family visiting, Tommy's absence loomed large in our hearts and minds. Mark enjoyed himself thoroughly, but it was bittersweet to see him so happy - knowing how much happier he'd be with a brother with whom to share the celebration. How much happier we'd all be.
Linda took a mental health trip to Miami in early January, and I followed with my own ski trip to Colorado. We both enjoyed the time away, but found ourselves falling flat after the bounce, heading into Tommy's birthday.
He would have been ten, a milestone missed and marked warily by us. We couldn't stomach any sort of celebration that day, too many tears . . . you think that you can't be any more sad and then you plummet some more, falling to depths of despair not felt since the moment he died, a return to that seemingly immeasurable grief.
In a few days the pall lifted a bit, as we worked our way back to the only way we can live, which is day-to-day. We decided to go to the Virginia Living Museum and Chili's to honor Tommy. He would have enjoyed it.
I then attended CureSearch's winter lobbying effort in DC at the beginning of February. It was a taxing day, recounting Tommy's story and pleading for help. Still, it's the least I can do to honor his wishes, seeking a cure so that other children can live their lives fully. It's too late to save Tommy but never too late to save another innocent victim - if you've been touched at all by Tommy's story then please click here to help. I'm shaving my head in less than two weeks and need your help.
Five months in the blink of an eye. I miss him constantly, unable to focus on much other than his absence. This is not to say that we aren't muddling through, but muddling is as good as it gets. I trudge about as if in oatmeal, mentally and physically, but at least my feet are moving and I know my mind will follow, one day. Just not today. My heart won't let it. I miss you, Tommy. I miss you.
Mark wants to have more fun in the snow. I must go.
