I’m not mad in the “crazy furious, angry” kind of way.
I’m not mad in the “out of my mind, insane, lunatic” kind of way. (at least not most days)
I’m really mad in the “this is not what I had planned, I feel gypped, this is not fair, scream at the sky” kind of way.
It’s not directed at God, this anger of mine.
It’s just there.
Mingled with overwhelming sadness like a casserole of emotions and everything is touching.
I can’t always separate sad from mad.
I wanted to see him walk.
I wanted to hear him talk.
I wanted to celebrate when he outgrew his need for a trach.
I wanted to see him get on the school bus. (ok, not really!)
I wanted to watch him kick a soccer ball.
I wanted to see him make friends.
I wanted to watch him put his arm around a little girl and give her a kiss.
I wanted to take him to Target.
I wanted to go swimming with him.
I wanted to go to his first school program.
I wanted to take him to see his first movie.
I wanted to chase him in the back yard and hear him laugh.
I wanted to watch him go on a date.
I wanted to see him get a job.
I wanted to see him do so many, many things.
I wanted to see him experience so many, many things.
I feel really mad.
We fought so hard just to live.
And we did.
So when I get mad. When I feel unbelievably sad.
Or when I feel like that emotional casserole is just freaking dumped on my head
I got to read him so many books.
I got to watch him learn to crawl.
At one of his sickest moments, he woke up from death and signed “Momma”.
I got to teach him how to sit on a bike and work on pushing his feet.
I got watch him cruise around the kitchen in a walker.
I got to push him in the swing at the playground.
I got to take him on his first vacation.
I got to lay on a blanket with him at the park.
I got to give him his first bottle.
I got to give him baths and put lotion on his sweet little body.
I got to feel him touch my face.
I got to watch him belly laugh over the silliest things.
I got to celebrate four Christmases with him.
I got to throw him three birthday parties.
I got to put icing on his tongue.
I got to see every silly face he made.
I got to watch him learn to clap his hands.
I got to be his mom for 1402 days.
And that is good. Very good.
But I’m still very sad.
And I’m still very mad.