We were driving home today from a family reunion and drove past the cemetery where Rocky is buried. My daughter wanted to stop. So I turned around and went to the grave. The six of us sat down around the grave and talked. The children shared their memories of the day he died. It was a movie moment. We were talking so plainly, just remembering. After some time, three of the boys wandered off to play on a dirt pile at the cemetery. They can only handle so much emotion. Phoebe, Samuel and I kept talking. Samuel shared that he was upset with me for not having Ms. Colleen bring them to the hospital. I told him it was not a good place for children. He told me that it was a wrong decision and that he wished he was there. As I shared that I was overwhelmed and burdened with so many decisions at that time and did the best I could, he just listened. I shared mistakes I felt I made. That I wish I had different people there when they were told. I shared how hard it was. I told them the breathing tube was in his mouth and it was not a pretty sight. I told them there were nurses everywhere. I asked them to forgive me for mistakes I made. I did my best. There is no perfect way to handle a situation and I did my best.
As I reflect, the most important part of that conversation was that they asked questions. They shared their thoughts. They talked to me. The ones that walked away to play are the ones struggling the most. They don’t talk about it. I think the twins don’t remember a lot of details but Micah. I don’t know. He doesn’t want to talk, never was a talker even when Rocky was alive. He is the one hurting. It is inside and he won’t let it out. I pray that we keep talking and he keeps hearing us and one day, hopefully soon, he finds the release that he needs. It needs to happen.
I am thankful that we continue to talk. I am thankful that we love each other. I am thankful that we are still processing and growing. I am thankful for my family.
