Change...

I wish there were a way for me to shake the feeling of being incomplete. To cease from weeping when joyous moments can't be shared with my son. Nevertheless, I realize that this Earth will make me feel this way until I can be with my son again. This is my new life; I must live with it.

There are so many things that I should be happy about, but I find difficulty feeling the true euphoria of "traditional joy". Ethan's passing has changed my definition of personal happiness and I've learned to adapt to it. My face is different. I've looked at pictures and noticed this change. I couldn't quite put my finger on it until Friday, but staring at my commencement pictures made me realize that my smile isn't the same anymore. Naivety has been obliterated and my heartache is here to stay. Sometimes, moments feel forced.

I am convinced that the blemishes of life's hardships alter our souls. Not only do our insides change from emotional pain, but our physical features transform as well. Eyes appear tired. Wrinkles form. Smiles change. This physical effect is even more prominent once the spirit leaves the body. Our loved ones do not look that same when they are laying in a casket. Experiencing grief changes us too. We all change.

When Ethan's spirit left his body, his face was not the same. I can't describe how it changed, but it did. That was how I knew he was gone. There was a moment of peace and the weeping stopped. Calm came over John and myself and I felt my son's spirit enter the atmosphere.

He surrounded us.

John was holding Ethan when this happened. The calm was so soothing that John even drifted into momentary rest. It was at that very moment that Ethan's face changed. That was the instant a piece of my soul left my body. Faces changed for good.

Despite my inability to be "traditionally happy", I wouldn't call myself depressed. I still get up every morning and take care of business. I am still here, it just that my son isn't. Change is here to stay. I still smile. I still laugh. I am still me, but I am not complete. My very own psychological warfare has been prevalent these past few weeks and avoiding this inner inquisition has not been easy. One particular "why question" vehemently echoes in my head…

Why the fuck did this have to happen to my son?!

To drown out this violent echo I have to physically whisper…

Lord, give me strength to overcome this pain.

Over and over and over…

Each and every time, God soothes me. The Lord hears me even when I whisper. He hears all of us. Amazing isn't it? I have come to realize that my missing piece is in heaven with my son. A part of me died, but that part is with my baby. I'm okay. Ethan took a peice of my happiness to heaven and the empty space in my soul has been filled with heartache, incompleteness. It's simple diffusion - high concentration to low concentration - but I am with my baby. Something had to give and this idea is what helps me get through the day. Everything is gonna be alright.

I make a conscious effort to inject Ethan into our daily lives so the boys will never forget. When I walked across stage on Friday, I carried his hat along with me. My portable comfort is back; his scent doesn't make me cry; that part of my wound is healed. Commencement was a happy moment and even though this was "just" my AA degree, accomplishing this task took a lot of blood, sweat, tears, and sacrifice. I was happy, but I longed for Ethan to be there with me. A hat was not enough.

Yet...God continues to soothe me and my revelation gives me comfort. Although a part of me is gone, I am okay. A peice of my happiness, my soul, was taken to heaven by my son and I know that part is enough to cradle my baby. Ethan is with me and I am with him. Sometimes, I even call his name when I holler at the boys to clean their room or order them to stop making so much noise. Sometimes, I mix their names up when I tell people stories about my babies. These Freudian slips fascinate me and this is how I know everything will be just fine.

We are together. Ethan has a peice of his Mom with him in heaven. I couldn't ask for anything better.