Confession

I must confess. The picture posted yesterday was not a creation of mine. It was designed for me and given to me by my sister in law. It is hanging up on the wall in the new playroom. It was perfect for this day.

I wanted to post on "this" day but I didn't want to commemorate or make a big deal about it. It isn't a day I want to remember. In fact it is a day I would like to permanently erase from my mind with a big black sharpie. Ok not erased, but I would like to sharpie it so I don't have to keep living it over and over. It did happen. It is what it is. Daxton is gone. I still miss him.

A year later. I never thought that the time would pass. It stood still for me for so many days, weeks, even months, that it is hard to believe that one year has actually gone by. There have been birthdays, holidays, babies, marriages, even other tragedies. Time has moved. It has continued. And I have made it. I have survived.

I am a survivor. I don't necessarily carry the attitude "bring it on" because I don't really want anything "brought." But if it comes, I will beat it. I am a fighter. I will do this. There are so many others fighting this battle with grief. With losing a child. With losing a husband. With losing themselves. I look up to them for strength. It makes me want to continue fighting.

A year ago, I explained my loss as losing my right arm. A year ago, my right arm was cut off without me even being prepared for it. A year ago, I lost one of the most valuable earthly possessions. A year ago, I lost my little man. My little shadow. My right arm. When it was taken from me, I thought I would never be the same. I knew I would never be the same. I am not the same. I would like to think that I am stronger. Of course there are many other ways I would have liked to become such. But it is not so.

Each day is a new day. Each week is a new week. Each year will be a new year. In this lifetime, I will not use my right arm. It is gone. I have learned to compensate. I have learned how to get along without it. Sometimes it is more than I can bear. Sometimes I really wish that I could have it back. Sometimes I just go into the bathroom and cry my tears. Then I come out, lift up my head, and say "Bring it on."

I try to lose myself in projects or service or playing with my kids. My grief is still sometimes crippling, but not as frequently as it was before. I can manage. I can do daily tasks. I still think about Daxton every day. Whenever I say his name or hear his name, there is a soft pang in my heart, not like the dagger it used to be.

A hole still remains in my heart. It isn't closing. Not even a little. But my heart is learning. It is learning what my mind keeps telling it. My girls keep me busy. I appreciate my children more. I know how lucky I am to have them because I have lost one. I know how much love I have for them because I have lost one. It is like it says in the scriptures without the sorrow, we wouldn't know the joy, without the bitter, we wouldn't know the sweet. And boy don't I know.

I know I will get to raise Daxton someday. His spirit is in Heaven, serving the Lord and being a missionary. His body is in the "waiting room." It is a very big waiting room. There I will wait to see him. It may be 10 years. It may be 20. It may be more. But I know I will see him again. I know I will raise him. I know I will be a perfect mother then, for the Lord will have taught me what I need to learn. How lucky he will be :). How lucky I will be. I miss him. Of course I miss him. Every bone in my body and every pore of my soul miss him. But I will see him again.

Someday. Just not today.