3 Weeks

Here I sit... three plus weeks after Matteo died. And, all I can do is cry. My head hurts from crying. My heart feels heavy. My eyes are sore and red. And, I'm just sad.

I miss him SO MUCH. SO. MUCH.

It's quite possible that I miss him more today than I did yesterday, than I did the day before... and the day before that.

People tell me... time heals. I'm sorry... but f*&# that. Time hasn't healed crap.

I have not held him in over three weeks. THREE WHOLE WEEKS. Prior to our March 2009 trip to Mexico (Dan, Gabby & I)... I had never spent one night away from my boys. And now... I have not smelled Matteo or seen him smile in over THREE WEEKS. I have not heard his voice in over THREE WEEKS. I find myself digging through videos at night and watching them into the wee hours just to hear tidbits of his voice. Angry with myself that I never recorded his most recent laugh... his "No Cocco, no! Cocco, no!" while following Rocco. Angry that we didn't record his silly "crazy eyes" look he'd give people when he wanted to stay in MY arms. I have not run my fingers through his fuzzy curls or snuggled up to him on the sofa in over three weeks. I haven't squeezed his chunky feet, his cute little buns, or loved on my little guy in over three weeks. THREE WEEKS. How the hell does someone deal with this? How do you move on? How? HOW? I don't understand. I don't even want to understand right now.

It's been three weeks of constant reminders. Constant replaying of that horrible, awful morning. And, my mind just continues working throughout the night. If I don't dream about Matteo and my time with him... then I dream about losing something or not being able to find something. And, instantly, when I wake up, Matteo is always the very first thing that pops into my head. If I wake up in the middle of the night, it sometimes takes hours to fall back asleep because my mind doesn't quit replaying everything. Every single horrible thing about this wrong situation. For a brief instant last Friday... in the very first instant I woke up, I felt that Matteo was still here with us. For that brief instant... life could not have been more perfect. And, then quicker than quick... it was all wrong and awful again.

Last night, I had to tackle another reminder of our awful tragedy. I decided I was going to reach into the coroner's bag for the second time since getting it back last week. The bag contained the clothes Matteo wore the night he died, and the two blankets I wrapped him in that awful morning. I opened it for the first time last week... and I sobbed on Dan's shoulder. He held me. And, I just sobbed. It was a bag full of flashbacks that I hadn't yet encountered prior to opening the bag. The morning Matteo died... he was so cold... my sweet, snuggly, happy baby boy was dead cold. After the paramedics did what was required... I sat there holding my baby... my cold baby... and cried for Dan to grab blankets to wrap him in... he was so cold and I was going to do whatever it took to keep him warm. And, now he had vomit on his shirt from the CPR attempts. I just wanted to wrap him up, hold him and disappear away with him. My poor sweet baby was COLD. He just had a fever... not even 12 hours prior... and there I was holding him, dead cold. His shirt was clean when I put him to bed. He hadn't puked in months. And now he had vomit on his shirt. I wrapped him in two fleece blankets and I held him. I sobbed on him.

So, I opened the coroner's bag for the second and last time last night. I smelled his vomit-stained shirt. I don't know why. Maybe to not forget? Maybe so I could remember with more certainty the smells that linger in my head from that awful morning? I don't know. But, I cried and felt the pain of our loss so heavy. Yet again. I took time in examining his shirt and his shorts. All the details. All the stains. I wanted to see everything, smell everything... one last time from how it was that awful morning. That horrific morning.

Then, exactly three weeks after Matteo's death, I threw the outfit my poor sweet baby died in... the last clothes he wore while living... into the washing machine. Soon to be added to the growing pile of Matteo-related things I have been gathering. Once I find the perfect chest... I'll place everything in there. And, I'll open it whenever I need to try and remember and be close to Matteo.

Three weeks.

Three weeks of not really having a desire to do anything in particular but spend time with my kids and husband. Three weeks of phone calls to return, emails to respond to, people to get back to... and no urge to do any of it.

Three weeks of people telling me... "Oh, this or that must be comforting." Three weeks of me looking at them blankly or not responding... and letting THEM think it's comforting. Me knowing that absolutely nothing... nothing is comforting right now.

Three weeks of knowing true sadness like I have never known it before. Three weeks of not being "ok". Three weeks of not knowing why he died. Three weeks of feeling completely vulnerable to death... like at any instant, it could sweep right back into my house and strike again at whatever moment it pleases.

The three most heart-wrenching weeks of my life.

So... this is what life is like 3 weeks after losing my sweet, soon-to-be 18 month old child.