Sunday, 30 November 2008
Of course, I don’t think of Aaron as seventeen at all, I still think of him as fourteen, I always will I think, because that’s how old he was when I last saw him.
I do wonder what Aaron would be like at seventeen, how tall, how strong, how cheeky. And I think of all the things I’ve missed and will continue to miss in the years that he should have been here with us learning and growing and laughing. But in my heart and mind, the last image, the last photo, the last hug is how I think of Aaron.
And I know there will never be a moment when I don’t feel the loss and remember that last moment.
The same way as I don’t ever remember a time when I wasn’t a mum. I know I had a whole life before, and I know it was full with family and work and socialising. But I can’t imagine what filled my heart and my time to the capacity that being a parent does. I couldn’t have been fulfilled… I probably thought I was, but I couldn’t have been. And now, I can’t even remember myself before. I can’t imagine waking up and my first thought being of me, I can’t imagine going to bed without the kids to kiss goodnight, without wishing Aaron goodnight.
This time seventeen years ago, I may have been wallowing around like a beached whale, eating my (rather increased) bodyweight in marmite and bananas (yes together) on toast, but essentially it was still just me. I do remember rubbing my tummy and having a bond with my baby, but a baby I didn’t even know was a boy or a girl, and I have a vague memory of thinking the bond was’ it’, because it was a strong protective feeling unlike anything I knew before. Of course the moment Aaron was born; I knew it as nothing compared to the ‘discovering the meaning of life’ moment of actually becoming a mum.
So that day, that moment I stopped being a single entity and became a mum will be on my mind all this week, even more than usual. I’ll be emotional at times and angry at times, and all at the same time as trying to make sure that Jordan, Robyn and Deion aren’t suffering in silence. I co-ordinate a whole group of the kids friends and teachers to look out for them and report back to me on anniversaries like this in case they aren’t telling me exactly how they feel. They do luckily, but Robyn in particular goes quiet sometimes, and as much as I hate to see the sadness in her eyes, I hate even more that I can’t do anything about it. And after all, I know how she feels.
I will be avoided the shops, as I will undoubtedly see a million things that Aaron would have loved, I know there will be a sudden influx of postman Pat goodies wherever I go, so I’ll stay away. I’ll avoid bakeries and the cake section of the supermarket, and the card section, and the toy section. And I’ll hold in the tears and be strong for everyone else, because that’s what being a mum means. But once everyone else is in bed, its another story!
I am lucky and blessed to have family and friends around me, and this is why I know I’ll get through the week. For them, for me, for the kids, and most of all because of Aaron. He taught me to be strong. And most of all, he would be very disappointed in me if I fell apart now.