Friday, December 28, 2012

What I have that Rowan doesn't

As Christmas approached, I began to realize that watching Rowan open her presents without someone to share that joy with was going to be pretty sad for me. Fortunately, my mom had anticipated that and let me know that she wanted to be at my house for Christmas Eve and Christmas morning. The closer it got, the more glad I was.

On Christmas Eve, after Rowan went to bed (and finally fell asleep), I started wrapping the last of the presents, stuffing the stocking, and eating Santa's cookies (I'm sure this tradition was started by a parent with a sweet tooth as an excuse to get more cookies - I must thank them). All the while my mom sat and talked with me about anything and everything, like we have since as long as I can remember.

On Christmas morning we watched Rowan together as she opened up all of her gifts, delighted over and over again at the wonderful surprises she found in each package. And I thought more than once that this is the sort of thing Aimee loved most - seeing Rowan in her joy and delight was Aimee's greatest joy and delight. I miss Aimee most in those moments, largely because I can't share them with her.

But at least this time, I was able to share the moment with my mom.

As I reflected on this later, I realized this it is in times like these we need our moms the most. Not just the boo-boos and scraped knees of our childhood, or the excitement of scoring soccer goals or piano recitals, or even the pain of navigating high school dating or the excitement of getting our driver's license. It's also when we're adults, with families of our own, and life comes along and deals us a nasty blow, and that inner child in us longs to have our mommy there to comfort us.

My mommy is still here, and when I need her, she's there for me.

Rowan's isn't.

This put Rowan's loss in such a greater scale than I'd ever seen it before. I mean, I know that once you have children you're a parent for life. But the full scope of how important that is didn't really hit me until I noticed how grateful I was to my own mother for being there on Christmas morning. Rowan will have people that love her, but no one loves you like your mother, and Rowan will never have that again. Not through the scrapes, recitals, dating pains, or significant blows dealt by life. I'll be there as long as God allows, and I know that will be good for Rowan, but it won't be the same.

This is the magnitude of the loss suffered on that terrible day.

1 comment:

  1. Very well said, Pat. Perhaps with time God will provide her with a second Mommy. Until then, it's a credit to you that you are aware of her loss and it shows just how in tune you are with her situation. That counts for something.