Home Depot

Two weeks ago this day your heart beat for the last time. It feels like two decades at times and two minutes at others. Time is cruel.

I went to Home Depot today. You hated Home Depot. It was your least favorite store but we also had fun there, especially during Christmas. We would push all the buttons and watch Disney characters sing songs just for you. You would give me enough time to look at plants and then would let me, and the entire store, know it was time to leave.

I pushed a cart today. It was abhorrent. When you were here I always pulled it because I would maneuver you in your chair in front of me. When I finished looking at the plants, there by myself I said, “Now we have to go find Grandma,” and my heart broke all over again. You were not there to hear me.

I managed to check out and get back to the car in time to cry. You hated it when I cried. You always would cry with me even if you didn’t know what it was about. You laughed when I laughed and you cried when I cried. You never cared why only that we shared every emotion. You were the best companion.

There were children everywhere at Home Depot today proudly displaying their craft. I cried more wondering why I didn’t get to keep you, my child. Then I remembered. I did. For twenty-four years I got to keep you closer than most mothers get the privilege of experiencing. And for that I am grateful.

I don’t know how I am going to do this, my sweet boy. You were the voice in my head and the song in my heart. You were my purpose and every day I thanked God for giving me a child who would ensure my role as mother would always be profound because you needed me and that would never change. At least not until February 21, 2026. Your brothers will always need me as a mother but not like you did.

I count it progress I was able to get back to the car before I cried this time. Baby steps. A friend once told me

One step at a time. And when you can’t, just lean forward.

I am leaning forward. Sometimes I just sit and cry. This grief is different. It has shaken my very knowledge of where I am in the world. It is physical. It is emotional. It is mental. It is overwhelmingly, seemingly impossible. But God…

All the time I miss your beautiful love. Your smile. Your request for hugs which I honored every single time because I knew each one could be the last.

That last one came two weeks ago today. Steve held your hand and I hugged you whispering “Mommy is here…mommy is here,” over and over until you were not.

Someday I will be able to go to a store and not cry. Some day the clock will not remind me it is time to catheterize or give medication or have coffee together in my office. Someday I will make it through a day without crying. But there will never be a day I don’t miss you with my whole, shattered, broken heart. I hold to the promise it won’t always be so shattered or broken but do know there will always be a piece missing until I see you again, sweet boy.

A friend sent me this poem. Your absence, the quietness of the house, the emptiness of my days tell my truth of this poem:

Even in our sleep, pain which cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart, until, in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom through the awful Grace of God (Aeschylus, translated by Edieth Hamilton in 1930)