mourning – beatingcowdens

I cried today. Yep. That was it. Couldn’t hold it in one second longer so I pulled the car into a lot. Thankfully I was alone. And I rolled up all the windows, locked the doors – and sobbed.

It only lasted about 10 minutes, but I caught a wicked headache, and a bit of stress release from that good old-fashioned hissy fit.

I generally make a habit of not allowing them. I am a look at the bright side of life kind of girl. I like to remind myself about others who have it worse, and try to put myself in other people’s shoes. It usually works.

Today the emotion got the better of me. And its OK.

Work was stressful.

Supporting my dear husband while he works his tail off three nights a week at school is well worth it, but stressful for all of us.

Homework. Constant. Ever changing. Tests that need to be studied for. Worry about things not yet complete. Yep, its only 4th grade. The teachers are lovely. The stress is really almost unreal.

Today we went to the Urgi center for X-rays of a foot and ankle that has been bothering Meghan since dance class Monday. She limped for 2 days before I thought – negligent mother should have a doctor take a look. Sprained. Takes time. (Besides the 2 hours out of the afternoon.)

In addition to Cowden’s Syndrome, Meghan has a few other neat things. One of her diagnoses is “Benign Hypermobile Joint Syndrome.” Great – if you can manage your flexibility. If you can’t it leads to all sorts of random injuries. We keep a really good PT around… just because.

But, if I am really really honest – I don’t think any of these things pushed me over into that screaming sobbing cry I so desperately needed. I think it was sadness. Sadness, mixed with raw fear.

Last night I sat with a friend and her 7th grade son at the wake for the little boy who died last week. I couldn’t for a minute imagine that any more sadness could fit in that one room. I had a lot of time to think while we sat. Maybe too much.

I looked first at his family. Mom and Dad poised, and carefully greeting each on the never-ending line. Big Brother and Little Sister, beautiful, supportive, composed. I told you. They could have been any of us. And I am sure they never in their worst nightmare imagined they would be standing there.

And I looked at the police officers, standing in honor. Each one with red eyes as they tried so hard to remain stoic. Undoubtedly they had kids of their own, or they knew the young man well – or both.

Children. Everywhere. Out of order for a wake. Except this time it was theirs. It was their friend. The kid they sat in class with. Young preteens – so many of them former students. Faces raw with emotion. A night they will never forget.

Tomorrow my friend and I, we will go to the funeral mass. We will represent our school. We will try to keep ourselves composed. But, her thoughts will wander to her boys, and mine to my little girl. I will think of the “close calls” we have endured, and the many the Cowden’s Syndrome has on the horizon for us. I shudder at the horror… at the potential.

And yet, if I let it consume me, what life will that be for my girl; my beautiful, generous, compassionate young lady?
If I let the tragedy overwhelm me with the reality that at any moment, any of us could be this family, I will lose track of what I have.

If I lose track, if I stop cherishing the blessings I have, I do not give any honor to the memory of this little boy.

Instead, I hug tighter. Try to strengthen the duration of my patience. Smell the flowers. Say I love you. Believe in angels. Remember what really matters.

I can not comfort this family. My words are useless. They have to find their way.

But, I am quite sure now why I cried, and why I had to cry, and why I continue to cry. I can weep and mourn, with them and for them.

I can hug my little girl, and then hug her again. I can make memories that matter.

Maybe if we all take some time to show some extra love. Maybe then we can find a way to keep his memory alive forever.