I've let this blog languish for almost a year now. In that year, we found out that my son, Jake, had Crohn's disease. He underwent a hospital stay for treatment about this time last year. He went into the hospital for bowel resection surgery in August. He died Aug. 30, 2009. I was with him at the hospital.
I have thought about posts I wanted to write about Jake, and I have done a few notes on Facebook. But I have been afraid or too despondent or ... something to write about him and about his death on this blog. Today, something made me want to start again.
I made instant oatmeal for breakfast this morning and used the last of a jar of cinnamon sugar. As I threw the empty container in the trash can, I thought about how old that jar was. It was so old that I bought it when Jake still liked to eat cinnamon toast. I think he might have still been in middle school (8 or 9 years ago) when he stopped liking cinnamon toast.
Finishing up that jar reminded me how many things I have done that take Jake out of my life. In the weeks and months after his death, as I canceled his cell phone and closed his bank accounts, it felt as if I were erasing his existence. I cried every time I hung up the phone or sent a letter that meant the end of Jake.
To comfort me, I am sure, people would say that Jake isn't erased. He lives on in memory and in photos and in my heart. It is true that I have him in my heart always, but that offers me little comfort. I want him here with me. I want his living, breathing, thinking self here with me. I want him to be able to grow old and have all the things I dreamed of for him and that he dreamed of for himself.
Each time I do something that takes him further out of my life, it tears at my soul.