The Book of Me

I am fighting with time again.  The more time that passes since Xavier's death, the further away I feel from him and the more pain I feel. "They" say it gets easier with time, but I call bullshit. No one who has lost a child says that. It changes, yes, but it never gets easy.  In the beginning I felt so much closer to him, to his spirit. Now I feel this gap widening. I hate it. It makes me cry, it makes me sob and cry aloud for him. It’s yet another step forward into this new life. And change is hard... I resist it with every tear that falls. I am growing and so is he in Heaven. We are both becoming stronger and transforming into better beings from our experiences. We are learning. But it hurts.  Time makes no difference. As much as I try to stay positive, hopeful and prepared, my body remembers the trauma. It’s emotional and physical. The subconscious feelings of the last months of Xavier’s life are bubbling up again. Even though I wasn't consciously thinking a

You don’t realize how comfortable you are in your new life until something so concrete reminds of the life — of the living child you used to have. It may sound strange, but as we approach the two-year anniversary of Xavier's passing, I remember him not being here more than I remember his life before we lost him to brain cancer. Or at least lately I have subconsciously chosen to move forward with life and this newly forged relationship -- or continuing bond -- with my dead child. Sometimes its less painful to think of him as he is now, than to remember what it was like with him alive. Those memories remind me of what I am missing. They sting! Xavier's drawing from 2015 after his first relapse. I believe he knew then he was going to die. So many hidden messages in this picture from him rising up to the tiny rainbow.  As I recently sorted through some files I came across his report cards, his drawings and all of his medical documents. They stopped me in my tracks. He d