Today sucks. No articulate way to say that. It just sucks. It’s been a week since Killian passed. One week. This has been the longest week of my life, but it also feels like it just happened yesterday. It’s very strange.
I was out yesterday, and saw an old friend walk by. We haven’t talked much in the last few years, but have always been friendly. I saw them see me, and quickly turn around and beeline for another isle. I get it. I’m the mom who’s baby just died. What in the world do you say? Death, especially untimely, is extremely uncomfortable. It doesn’t make anyone feel good. It’s messy and unsettling and disturbing. I don’t blame that person for avoiding me. I’m sure I’ve done it in the past.
Just know that there is nothing “right” to say in this situation. There’s no guidebook for dealing with something like this. If you have a question, ask it. You don’t know what to say, say that. And if you want to keep your distance from us for now, that’s ok too.
People may wonder why I’m talking about this process so openly on social media. My answer is “why not”. Why not try and help, or change, the stigma around death. There’s nothing wrong with the awkwardness.
The night that Killian passed, Dean and I were laying on our bed, both with eyes as puffy and sore as you could ever imagine. Dean, not normally as emotional as I am, was hating the burning pain in his eyes that happens after those long and hard cries. I proceeded to teach him how to help sooth the burn. We laid there alternating frozen cloths on our faces and cold beer cans agains our eyes, and laughed, hard. It’s, strange enough, a good memory. It connected us that little bit more.
So today, even though it sucks, I’ll think about Killian lots, and try to smile and laugh, even though I know I’ll cry. This was the last picture I took of us, about 3 hours before he died. It’s one of my favourites.