That's a picture of my first tattoo... it might be my last. It hurt. BAD. What I'd give to be able to go back in time and have gotten that for the boy while he was alive. He'd have been so honored, so proud to see his wimpy mom with a tattoo bearing his name. Maybe then he'd have understood just how special he was, how much he was needed on this earth. The lettering below his name reads, in Farsi, half of my heart. There was a time in my life that I swore I'd never have a tattoo, but I can't think of anything more beautiful to have permanently imprinted on my body!
Today I made a nice dinner for my daughter, something that is still really hard for me to do for just the two of us. Sitting at the dinner table continues to be a real challenge for me because I can't get past Brandon's empty chair. When we have guests, it helps that his chair isn't empty, but then I struggle with someone, even if it's me, sitting where my son should be. How I wish I'd known, the last time he sat there, that it'd be his last so I could've recorded every second, committed every second to memory or something that really awesome moms do, the moms who have every moment of their children's lives preserved somewhere. It wouldn't make his empty chair hurt less, but at least I'd have it permanently recorded, so I could never forget.
This was the girl's first day of school... her last first day of high school, so my last first day, as well. I'm not a big fan of lasts, especially when I'm not prepared. Maybe it's a control thing, who knows, but I'm not a big fan of things ending, even when it's on my terms. Change just hasn't been much of a friend to me, I guess. Before I know it, we'll be in her last day of college, of being single, living with mom, last birthday in the teens, etc.
We just celebrated her last birthday in high school. The first birthday celebration without my boy there. I wanted to look forward to her day and just relish every single second, but the closer we got, the more I thought I wouldn't be able to cope with the day at all. My husband had to remind me that it was her day, all about her, but all I could think about was how I didn't get to have my son there and how he'd never celebrate a birthday past his teen years. Celebrating anything seemed like pure torture. We got through it, though, and we got through it with some smiles and laughter, amazingly.
I never imagined there'd be a last day of being Brando's mom. Well, that's not entirely true, I feared it would happen, but I didn't want to believe it would happen, could happen. I needed our last day together on this earth to be as I was going home, never him going ahead of me. May 16th was, unknowingly, my last normal day on this earth, the last day I was the Lisa I used to know. Now, I'm stuck in a world of firsts that are a living nightmare, every one of them. New normal continues to suck, with its lack of reference points, no navigation AND no way out, even if I tried to turn around, other than just trudging through it, hoping I don't get my daughter lost, while I'm feeling around in the dark.
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