I'm trying to think of a snarky funny way to start this post but I can't.
This disease can kiss my ass.
Last week I met a mom of a beautiful boy who has been horribly and quickly impacted by mitochondrial disease. This mom is 29 and has had some candid end of life discussions surrounding her boy.
I marvel in her bravery.
We met and talked about Samantha. And how I have navigated through our loss.
I never know what to say. So much because I am still navigating
And so much because I want to fix this. I am not serious by nature. I am the fly by the seat of your pants girl....the sleep on it you will feel better tomorrow girl....have a shot it doesn't matter girl......
Ironic that this is the life now lead.
And I never, ever, ever want anyone to feel this pain.
Ironic that this is the community I love.
The next night Hubs and I were watching Stephen Colbert's interview with Joe Biden.
Joe....who has embraced his loss as who he is; speaks to families of soldiers, talks of death openly and considers himself lucky. Lucky because he is loved and because he has his community that he loves back.
Last Thursday was also World Suicide Prevention Day.
I would be trite not to say that many who have lost a child have wondered if the world were better where their children are. I came across a post last week by a quirky writer who I like very much:
And she talks about depression- feeling isolated and not knowing where to turn but that we are all part of a community and to accept this hurt, this pain, is part of being part of this horrible, messy yet lovely community. When I read her blog, I realized that this sense of isolation extends to us who have suffered a great loss. All we can do is find a sense of home. Find those who have the strength to love us and reveal in the joy to love them back.
This loss is so ungodly real.I cannot fix this. You cannot fix this. But we can find a home together.....and then maybe we are not so isolated. I will even make banana bread.