Caemon could have been any of our children. He was our child. All of us who have been a part of this community for years have literally dreamed of, conceived, and raised our children together. I "met" Timaree and Jodi long before any of our sons were born, and we willed them into this world together. My life has not gone on as normal since I got the news. I have been sad, edgy, and distracted. Last night, I got a nasty burn on my arm when I leaned against a hot baking sheet I'd just taken out of the oven. It still stings and reminds me I'm not all here. I know I was supposed to hug my own children closer last night, but I found myself holding E at arm's length instead. Every time I looked at him I felt a swell of sadness and vulnerability that threatened to carry me away. I went to sleep thinking of Caemon, I woke up thinking of Caemon, and after the few and far-between moments that my attention drifted to something else today, the snap back a moment later was like a fresh punch to the gut. He is gone. There is nothing you can do to change it. Opening myself up to the grief feels like looking directly at the sun. I can only do it for a moment before I have to shut my eyes and turn my head away. And yet, once my eyes have stopped burning and the white spots have disappeared, I look back at it again. I know that whatever I am feeling now is but a shadow of what Jodi and Timaree are going through, and it feels like the least I can do to bear witness to that somehow. I do not know how they are finding the strength to open their eyes and take a breath each morning.
Here's what I do know: I know that they showed an awe-inspiring amount of grace and strength of character throughout Caemon's hard-fought battle. I know that they bathed their son in more positive, healing energy than I could have generated on my best day, and they did it day in and day out, in the face of the most terrifying of circumstances. I know that they helped Caemon to live his too-short life to the fullest, and that they squeezed as much love into each minute they had with him as anyone could have. I know that Caemon knew all of this too. I know that if anyone can get through this, it's them. And I know that I am only one of hundreds upon hundreds of people who are offering a shoulder as they take their first steps down a path no parent should ever have to walk.
I will never forget Caemon - his piercing blue eyes, his cheeky grin, his old soul - he was so clearly a boy who could light up any room. I watched him grow first in his mothers' hearts, then alongside his stuffed crocodile, and then in the leaps and bounds of toddlerhood and beyond. I read along as Timaree narrated his burgeoning love affair with appliances, but it wasn't until she shared the picture of him snuggling the hair clippers that I truly understood it's depth. I think I actually laughed out loud. Through stories and pictures, Caemon was able to touch people all over the world. I consider myself lucky to be one of them.
I know I haven't been the most active blogger lately, but my new year's resolution to post more will have to wait as I observe a week of blog silence in honor of Caemon and his moms.
