Mommy. Tanner. Alone.
It’s been a few days since I’ve written. Words have been impossible. In a moment of strength, I’ll sit to write of God’s grace only to be flattened by a memory and reduced to sobs. A message of heartache over Tanner’s loss quickly becomes one of joy as I glance at a grinning photo and am transported to another time.
How do I explain the process of living in such vastly extreme worlds without words?
The heart.
I see a heart and I see true love. The kind of love that only a mother can have for her child. The kind of pure love that would trade my life for his if I would have ever been given the chance. And I’ve begged. Dear God… I. Have. Begged. My heart is where I hold him.
I see a heart and I see the very thing that killed my child, that took his life, that failed our love.
One heart. Two feels. No words.
Yesterday was one of my strongest days. I functioned. I cleaned up dog poop. I finally went to the mortuary to discuss my son, my child. I reviewed his Certificate of Death. I met new friends. I held it together.
But it wasn’t strength that allowed me to survive the day; it was denial.
Sheer, utter denial.
For one day I allowed myself to live in this alternate universe where my son isn’t dead and his name isn’t listed as “decedent.” I let myself go through the motions without believing them to be true.
I still can’t believe it.
“Mommy. Tanner. Alone.”
It was one of his very favorite phrases and his very favorite thing in the entire world: Mommy and Tanner alone time. It didn’t matter what we were doing — Disney, dinner or laundry — if it was just him and me he was happy. There was nothing better for a quintessential mama’s boy than time with his mama. And who am I kidding, I loved it more than he did.
He was my kid before I was his mom.
He was my date before there was Darrell.
He was my joy, my laughter and my love.
Mommy. Tanner. Alone.
One of my last alone times is coming. I will be taking Tanner his resting outfit and spending alone time with him. And here’s the thing: I’m excited in a way that reduces me to utter heartbroken tears. I’m supposed to go on Monday but I’m not sure if I can wait that long.
I get to pick what he’s wearing.
I get to dress my baby.
This will be one of the very last things I get to do for him as his mother. I get to do something for my baby. I am so genuinely happy to get the privilege of doing something — anything — for my Tanner. In the same breath, I know that this will be one of the very last things I ever do for him.
A mother’s perfect love. Unmeasurable pain. And all in the same breath.
Mommy. Tanner. Alone.
