Mouse Stirring

 Yes, this  mouse is stirring again. Christmas morning, way morning. 2021. The year that followed the Covid year, that became another Covid year. 

My thoughts go to and have been going to, finishing our 6th year without Adam. As the material things that connected me to Adam break down, give out, or are consumed (believe it or not, I still have tea from Adam; if you know me, you will surely believe it), I feel myself moving into an inevitable new phase. That distant one of the mother who has lost her child and doesn't break down when talking about their person for the first time with someone.  The one where people look at her and barely remember she is a suicide loss survivor, as she has so visibly moved on. The one where I creep closer to the point where I will find out if there is an afterlife where we are reunited (in a natural way, of course).

I don't know, it's weird to think I will possibly be one of those moms who lives long enough to be without Adam as long as I lived with Adam. If you do the math, this assumes a realistic estimate (both my parents lived past 79 years of age). 

This insomnia reminds me of Adam. If he were here for Christmas, he would be prowling around, socks on the living room floor, remnants of a snack in the kitchen. We could meet for a chat, rather than meeting in a blog filled with all my feelings and musings. 

I appreciate every reminder of my best boy: the watch on my wrist, the memory shared that includes Adam, a picture trapped in time, friend or family speaking his name, and every question about how I am doing now. Honestly, I don't get that last one much, and that's okay. I'm not sure how to answer it anyway.