i am i said

That's a great Neil Diamond song. Not as great as America, but what is, really?

Don't have any new pic to go with this update. Please someone, a wireless SD card for our camera.

Am going to try to be more upbeat in my musings today. Because I'm sure that people who don't know me read this and think, wow this is one morose, sad, whiny woman. And those that do know me think, well they probably think they same thing. I really believe for the most part I am okay. It's balance. For me to get on with my life and be a productive part of society, a good mom, a... well, an employee, I can't let the grief off of its leash. It grounds me. And maybe I need to stop being grounded but it's a little too comforting to cut it loose. Because I know I can't get over losing Cian. That doesn't mean I walk around dressed in black crying like John Boehner, that just means there is a sadness I live with every day. That doesn't mean I don't enjoy life or laugh, it just means my highest high right now is let's say a 7.5 and not a 10. But I'm pretty happy with a 7.5. That is my cross to bear.

I think what people can't understand until they are in the shoes of a parent dealing with a terminally ill or dying child is that you would do anything to save them. Literally. If a doctor had said give us every single penny and we'll save your son, no brainer. If some higher power had said, mama, you take the cancer and we'll save your son, yup, that would have worked too. So when you actually live like that and ponder those types of things, when you are so desperate... how do you rebound from that once the inevitable happens? How can I care about money any more when I would have given it all away? How can I worry about death when I would have taken it to spare my son? This is just part of the mental damage you are left with.

I love my family. My living children saved me. I am thankful for every day that I feel healthy and wise. But I just can't and never will shake the grief. I've come to terms with that much.

In just over a week Cian would have been 5. I'm supposed to be the mother of a little boy starting kindergarten this year, instead I'm the mother of a little boy who was supposed to start kindergarten this year. After Cian died I thought I'd be some neuroblastoma warrior mom. I started an organization in his name to spread the word - the disease is out there and most docs don't have a clue what it is or how to diagnose. But then I realized, I don't know the first thing about the disease really. He was sick for seven short weeks, then he was gone. He only managed through 3 rounds of chemo. So what the hell do I know about this disease besides it is evil and should be eradicated post haste? Not much. I tried to go there, to learn more, to throw myself into the disease and I realized, I hate this little mf so why am I burdening myself any further with it? I hope Cian understands.

Ugh and that's another thing, living your life out with this sense of being watched over. WWCT? What would Cian think?

The other night I was out driving alone thinking about Cian and I had one of those, "did that really happen" moments? Did I really have a child and he died? Really, that really happened? To me? I think that's why I am fascinated by the stories of other bereaved parents. It helps me deal with what I'll call low self esteem that stems from his death. We brought him here to give him a great life and protect him. Fail and fail. And while I know it wasn't our fault and there was nothing more we could do beyond what we did do, none of it helps.

So this post didn't really turn out as positive as I thought it would - but really I'm okay. It's just late February, that's all. And this is all part of the lifelong healing process. I'm sure just about the time I've internalized it all, when it finally clicks, I'll be sitting in some SNF with diabetes, dementia and heart disease telling Paudie that my pants are too tight and that I need to go to the bathroom.