Fifteen Years
7/13/2022
It’s now been 15 years since Kaden came and left our world so fast. I guess we couldn’t keep the beautiful streak of nice weather that I wrote of last year, but it cleared into a pretty decent evening.
This anniversary, this day of this year, has been particularly hard for me. Sometimes the passing of years can make things easier to handle. But for every year that separates me from the death of my first child, it also brings me closer to the impending death of my youngest. I feel it looming over me like the dark clouds that were in the sky today and I find myself angry. I’m not entirely sure why, because I feel like I handle most anniversaries quite well and I can separate my current emotions from interfering with how I honor Kaden, but this year is different.
I generally try and leave this day open for myself, however, I incidentally scheduled an appointment for Holden. I thought about rescheduling it but I also thought about how difficult it can be to squeeze in a new date and time in an already busy schedule. Plus the last few July thirteenths have been tolerable and I thought the day would pan out fine. But my patience has been low, my emotional stability has been hanging by a thread and I haven’t wanted to talk to anyone. It’s difficult just to write this, but I also feel it’s important to express these thoughts and feelings and continue to bring awareness of these struggles to the world.
So today I find myself angry. I don’t like it because it’s not a common emotion for me to feel. Frustrated, irritated, bitchy, short tempered or exhausted, sure, but hardly ever angry. There are a thousand different thoughts racing through my head and even more emotions running through my heart, but I keep going back to angry.
I’m angry that it’s difficult to care for Holden.
I’m angry that our daily routine has become more and more complex.
I’m angry that we currently have three concurrent respiratory interventions that we must do every four hours.
I’m angry that I had to pack him up for an appointment alone and try to make room on his wheelchair to attach an oxygen tank, regular diaper bag with rescue meds, a feeding pump, a portable suction machine and a pulse ox reader.
I’m angry I can’t manage that without the stupid wheelchair being weighed down and tipping backwards despite attaching ankle weights to the front of it.
I’m angry that Holden hasn’t gotten better and stayed better.
I’m angry that we can’t bring him places anymore and that simple outings require intense planning.
I’m angry that my child is sick.
I’m angry that as frustrated as I acknowledge that I am, there are kids who are doing worse than he is and therefore I should be thankful for even this shitty day.
I’m angry that all of these feelings are overpowering how I normally honor this day.
I’m angry that I’m angry.
And I’m angry that I’m not the only parent that feels this way and lives this way.
I believe that there is a purpose for whatever struggles we are facing and I trust that God has a plan for me and that I am where I should be. I don’t generally question why things happen, but today just doesn’t feel fair.
The above paragraph was supposed to be where this entry ended. But, because God has such an amazing sense of humor, I thought it necessary to share the song that played shortly after I left the cemetery this evening. It played on a scratchy radio station that didn’t come in perfectly clear, but it was still able to deliver his message. He always finds a way to remind me that yes, this pain has meaning. (Click here for song link)