Being Auntie

This weekend, I celebrated being an Auntie, after a long hiatus.

I was struggling with the thought of facing Mother's Day, having just lost my son at Christmastime.  I was daunted by a public celebration of motherhood, considering that this rather significant aspect of my identity had so recently been damaged, and irrevocably altered.

I was pretty sure that I was not going to feel comfortable or complete as a mother.  So, I elected instead to focus on being Auntie this weekend, driving to Virginia to see my nephew graduate from Randolph College.  I hiked some beautiful terrain with my sister's family, watching the comfortable companionship of her adult sons, as the brothers ambled ahead of us on the wooded trail.  I tried to embrace this unusual gift of time with them, since my nephews both have travel plans that will take them far away.

Despite the beauty all around us, my serenity was hijacked, invaded.  Often, my thoughts became jumbled with emotion as I made simple comparisons between my sister's slightly older children and my own.  I imagined how Brent would have enjoyed a vigorous walk in the forest. The scenery conjured conversations with my son as I tramped along, a blending of poetry and science in my mind. 

Seeing warm affection between my nephews, I reflected on how Alex's closeness to Brent was often defined in medical terms, of HLA matching and their shared blood, tissue and cells.  It was clear to everyone that far more than biology connected them.  I wish that I could have seen their relationship develop and mature in more normal settings. I am happy for Nathan and Eric, who will have a lifetime to share experiences.  In the interest of honestly, I confess that it does make me a bit wistful.

I remember with gratitude, how close my children had been with their cousins before cancer disrupted our lives and our time became more restricted.  Coordinating vacation plans obviously became impossible, but I also watched the incidental time that our families often shared begin to shrink.  The easy, unthinking, spontaneous events like having dinner together after one of the boys soccer games or school events, disappeared altogether.

So much thought and planning would be eventually be required even for local excursions, as all things became complicated by our medical challenges and uncertainty.  I am so grateful for the time and attention that Eric and Nathan devoted to each of their younger cousins over the past seven years, but especially for Brent.  They would come visit him when they were home, for pizza and game night, even in the hospital.  Brent enjoyed hearing about their adventures when he could not have his own.

My weekend was filled with sunshine and glorious weather in Virginia.  I was proud of  Eric's college experience and of his fearlessness as he travels across the world.  But walking the campus, a pleasing contrast of brick and green, I was also haunted by Brent's college dreams which will remain unfulfilled. By extension, there are associated experiences as his mother that I am denied.  Perhaps I feel this more acutely because Brent would have been graduating now and heading off to college, had he not relapsed with leukemia less than a year ago.

Over time, I will somehow reconcile how my son's life, while cut short, was nonetheless complete. I am not even close to understanding this dichotomy.  But I believe that for me, this is where peace will eventually spring from.

Rather than banishing these difficult emotions whenever they arise, I try to acknowledge my disappointments.  And then, I turn to the gifts that I have in front of me, of the family that remains, of the love that remains.  I believe that this part, the love, will never diminish.