Also, you don't normally mark the month anniversary of anything, except for the age of small children. We mark a child's age before he or she is two years old by the months. Each month is a new miracle of life. After you become familiar with children, you can look at a baby and sometimes you think, "Oh, that baby is three months old." Because you can see the beginnings of a conscious smile on the little face.
So this is my first experience of wanting to mark the month anniversaries of something painful. The shock of Ned's accident feels as terrible today as it did on April 18th, 2008. But somehow, with each month, something is emerging, something new is being born. This is a painful birth, and I'm not sure how long the gestation has to last, how often the morning sickness, cramps and nausea is supposed to come, nor how long or painful the labor with be. This is a new kind of being.
I am struggling to find the words for it, but I think that it part of this process of keeping Ned's spirit alive. Being responsible enough to the face the pain of death with the joy of life and embrace it all.
My son Aaren has been struggling since the start of second grade this year. (Dad said he actually cut school in the second grade and answered the phone when the principal called home! That made me feel better.) Nothing terrible has happened, but he has disrupted P.E. and music class and he made some girls cry ;) He is also overwhelmed by the quietness and stillness of the classroom, having to sit there all day and having to produce reading, writing and arithmetic and keep up with the other kids. I can see in his eyes and through his tears that he is being challenged by life.
Aaren's struggles are normal, but a mom friend mentioned she thought that what Aaren was going through a lot and whatever he was going through was very deep. It occurred to me then that Aaren was not only going through his own grieving process, but also was being affected profoundly by mine.
That night when we were doing our bedtime reading, Aaren said, "You could die from anything. You could die from falling on a pencil and then smashing your head on the ground." I agreed with him and asked him what he thought happened after you die. He said, "I think you float around in outer space. Or, I think you go to China on the other side of the earth." Then he said, "Maybe Uncle Ned is floating up above China."
So I'm thinking of this sad sixth month anniversary as a turning point signaling a time to move forward and instead of being held down in sorrow with this loss, having the spirit of Ned lift us up to embrace life, for our kids, for our community, for our world.
