Eleven months. Time is so hard to comprehend when you are grieving. It feels like eleven life times since Callum left us. Or eleven minutes. The pain certainly feels as if it happened eleven minutes ago.
Everyone else’s life has gone on…as it should. His friends are turning 17. In September, they will be entering Grade 12. His brother is turning 15, the same age Callum was when he died. Time moves on.
I’ve been reading a lot about grief recently…trying to figure out the perfect thing to say and write on the one year anniversary. Some way to explain what this year has been like, and what Callum still means to me. I know there will be not “perfect” words. But I have to try.
“Grief is like the ocean.
It comes like waves,
ebbing and flowing.
Sometimes the water is
calm, and sometimes it
is overwhelming. All we
can do is learn to swim.”
I’m not swimming yet. At best, I’m treading water. And in the really bad moments, I’m just trying my hardest not to go under.
Eleven months later, I feel as if I’m stuck in some evil version of the movie “Groundhog Day”. I open my eyes, desperate to find out that this isn’t really happening and that it’s going to the a different day. But no. Callum is still gone. And the band-aid is ripped off my heart again. Every morning in fact.
I’ve also described my grief as being on a merry-go-round. If you’ve been reading the blog, you know the basic themes. They go over and over in my head daily. Why didn’t I know something was wrong? Why did this happen to us? Did I do enough to take care of him in those final weeks? Why was I in such denial about what was happening? Why should I go on? Especially when I am walking the dog, the tears flow behind my sunglasses as these thoughts swirl through my head.
Yes, there are sound, rational answers to all of these questions. There was nothing I could have done. It happened because one random cell mutated and created the cancer that took over his body. Yes, I did everything I could and was the best mother I could be under those circumstances. And yes, I have reasons to go on.
But…oh….the darkness sometimes. The deep, dark valley of grief as one writer described it. This is not where Callum wanted me to be. But he had no idea how much this was going to hurt. In his mind, everybody would go on and forget him. He was humble to a fault in some ways. He always worried more about everyone else around him than he did about himself.
I know I have to put my head down and face the weeks ahead as time marches on towards the one year anniversary on April 9th. It will just be a day. A sad day. A day when I hope everybody will remember what a caring and extraordinary person he was. But he’ll still be gone on April 10th. And perhaps that will be the hardest day of all so far.
“My mind knows you are in a better place,
where there is no pain.
You are at peace.
I understand that, I just wish
I could explain that to my heart.”
Love you Call Call. Today and every day. xo Mom