Mom

I arrive at Mom’s safely. On the latter part of the drive I think about another activity my counselor asked me to do. This exercise works for the loss of any relationship, I think, not just the passing of a child. It is: if the opportunity arose, now, after he has passed, what three questions I would ask Colby in the order of importance to me?

I give this a lot of thought. Today and over the past few weeks. I want to ask a dozen questions, a hundred. But just three? They have to be good questions, well thought out. Thinking about this helps me define what is important for me to know. Hypothetically. After much consideration I come up with the following:

Question one is, “Are you happy?” And of course by “happy” I mean, safe, okay, warm, comforted, at peace. Every parent wants to know these things about his or her child and I am no different, even though my son is no longer here.

Question two is,”Was there anything I could have done differently that would have kept you here with me?” What I really want to know is two-fold, three-fold, and on my drive today, I can’t quite get the wording right. What I want to ask is: if I did some specific thing differently, would you still be here with me? If so, what would the specific thing be? Or, was this abrupt ending to your life here on Earth pre-ordained? Was your life mapped out from the beginning and this was supposed to be?

Question three is, “Who do you hang out with?” Again, there is more to this question. Did someone greet you on the other side? If so, was it a friend, a relative? The brother of one of Colby’s friends passed a few years ago, a fallen soldier in Iraq. Another acquaintance passed a few days after Colby. Four of my former clients, all of whom knew Colby well, have gone on; as have a former babysitter; plus grandparents, great grandparents and other relatives he never met here, but who are relatives all the same. I want to know that my son is not alone. I want to know there is someone there to show him the ropes, that he has friends.

In my heart, I know I do not need to ask these questions. I know God is taking care of Colby. I know that just as I know this exercise is not about Colby. It is about me. And what I see is that I am still Colby’s mom. Even though he has gone on to a better place, as his mom I still want to do the things that moms do. Some of this is habit. “Mom” has been my main role for almost two dozen years and as I mention in an earlier post, old habits die hard. When your only child passes before you, quickly, it is not possible to give up the parental role equally as quickly. Time once again rears it’s head. It is a familiar theme in this grieving process. I just need more of it.