May 12, 2016
43 days. It has been 43 days since sweet baby Mason died. In those days I have been lucky enough to be surrounded by an amazing support system. To my friends and family, I thank you; you have been everything that I have needed, and I will forever be grateful.
As I approach returning to work (next Tuesday) I thought it was important for people to hear a few things from me. I am different. I have changed, but I’m still ME. I’m not scary. I don’t mind making eye contact and smiling. I won’t crumble to my knees if you speak of Mason. Trust me, nothing that you say is going to hurt me anymore than I have been hurting. In fact, please talk about him; please let me know that you still think about him and you are doing your best to live better.
I can’t write this post and not admit to my own shortcomings before his death. When I saw someone who was grieving the loss of a loved one, I avoided them like the plague. I didn’t want to let myself be vulnerable to their pain. In fact, there were many days I would think I couldn’t talk to that person because I might have to feel the pain briefly. How scary is that? A conversation with a grieving person might actually force you to stop and consider that life is more fragile than we could ever imagine. It sucks… It sucks avoiding the grieving person, and then it sucks even more, NOT avoiding that grieving person. To let yourself feel that vulnerability for a minute is exhausting. I guess what I am trying to say is…I get it. I understand if you are not able to look at me as we pass in the hallway, and I understand if you can’t find the right words to say. I want the transition into my new normal to be done with honesty, honesty from me, and honesty from the people that I will inevitably encounter. This task is certainly attainable with the help of our little mountain town.
This afternoon, I went on a hike and ran into a neighbor; she approached me with a deep sadness in her eyes. I could tell that she wanted to say so much but was speechless. Before she mumbled a word, I asked her not to be so sad. I asked her to live her life well because, ultimately, life is too short. I will refer to this frequently when approached about Mason’s death. Please don’t be sad. Please use this as an opportunity to recognize the shortcomings of your life and fix them before it’s too late.
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