Now You Know

There exist a place where you are forever 24 and I am forever happy to be your Mom.
You are forever 24 but no where in sight. I'm learning to find you in strange and odd things that are forced on me, like sunset that has a little extra beauty when it dips behind the horizon and the peace lily that thrives on the porch. You told me several times the sunset is where you will be. So it's there I look for you, but even then- there is no conversation. There is no healing in the silence.

I find myself dreading Mother's Day. You're not here to text or call me. This year, there will be no acknowledgement of my place in your life as Mom, yet you were always so clear about it. "You're my mom, so deal with it." You told me that more than once, several times actually. 
"I chose you, so there you have it. You're my Mom." 

I find myself wanting to scream from depths I never knew existed. I want to crumble, like I did when the police officers stood in my living room and told me you were gone. I want that numb feeling again, that moment when tears wouldn't dare come near my eyes. I want that again, because as awful as it sounds, that was the easy part. Learning you took your life was the easiest part of this. The difficult part is living beyond your death. All the things I can't share with you. The inside jokes that I still come across that you would laugh so hard at, the bitch barn I finally decided to do. You told me for over a year to take action on that old shed and I did, but instead of sharing it with you, I have to share it with the world via social media. Because you're not here to cheer me on. I won't hear "That's soooo lit, Mah!"

I can't tell you about the healing that has transpired between Keirsey and I. There is no sharing with you that Dalton now texts me EVERY day. It's been like water on parched, dry land, these things. And your perspective would be so welcomed for all of it. 
There's no suggestions on which meditation to try. The fact that I'm even DOING meditation, you tried so hard for so many years to get me to try it. It took your death for me to finally give in. I wish I could tell you you're right about meditation. That was one hell of a lesson to learn.

I want to visit the world where you are and know that you transitioned well, that you are happy, and the actions you took on February 28, 2022 were exactly what you needed to find the calm you spent your whole life looking for. But I can't do that. So I look for signs, sequences, shapes... anything that might be a display from you telling me what I so desperately want to know. 

I know this; that was you on that early Sunday morning between 2 and 3 a.m. The vibration in the room was different and my skin responded to it. Even as I stood there, motionless, barely breathing and Brad stared at me from the bed, I knew it was you. HOW I heard it, I don't know. And honestly, I don't care. It was the most real experience. It happened. I heard you. You moved, shifted, and resonated. My soul noticed. Just like it did on the day you left here. My soul knew that day and my soul knew that night. 

So maybe, for those 2 seconds when I heard you, I did visit where you are. I will live in that moment as long as I can. 

The only real comfort though, in all of this: You know now, beyond all reason and all doubt, across the vast expanse of time and where ever your soul is now, through all of the universe and all of this life and all of the next life, just how much I love you. You can see it, know it, feel it. That makes me smile. You know now how much I meant every word.

You, Enzo, are my sweet son and I love you more than the infinity of everything.

Now you know.