It’s been 2 weekends since I visited Anthony at the cemetery.
I feel like a horrible parent. How the hell could I not go see my child?
Does grief allow me to ignore him?
I simply cannot fathom how I didn’t go at some point to visit my son.
It’s only a 20 minute drive. It’s not like I am taking an interstate journey.
I have no excuse for my non-attendance other than I have been doing other things. Best part is, I have hardly any recollection of what those things are. Weeks just blend. If it’s more than 3 days after an event, unless you have a photo of me there, I won’t remember it.
It’s not an excuse. I have no justification for not visiting my son. He has only been gone 8 months. Hell, I know some Moms who go to the cemetery every day and their child died 5 years ago.
I feel like a rotten mother.
Anthony was the center of attention in my life for 5 years.
How could I suddenly stop focusing?
Friday nights, I come home from work with every intention of going to cemetery on either Saturday or Sunday. Even if I only stay 30 minutes, I go. Usually.
Sunday is the more frequent day of the two. Usually Saturday’s I sleep in and, if I am not Lectoring the 5pm mass, it’s a pajama day. I truly have no other desire to leave the house unless I have to.
Sorry friends, it’s not that I don’t want to see you, it’s just that my house has become my safe-space. It is my haven away from the world outside. The world outside is hard to accept.
I don’t talk to anyone or venture outdoors most Saturdays. I lock myself away in the safety of my home and simply exist. Watch a movie, read a magazine, lay on the couch all day. I have seen a lot of movies over the past few months.
There are occasions when I go out. I love having coffee with our friends or dinner with the family. I just love the safety of my own little world more. So, unless I haven’t seen you in a while, you won’t see me much. That’s just the way it is right now.
Sunday is usually the day I go to cemetery. I make the drive in the morning after my coffee. I then retreat to the safety of my living room. I have no idea what got in way of me visiting my son these past two weeks.
No wait, I do know what happened yesterday.
Yesterday, I went with Luciano to my hometown of Long Beach to have lunch with a friend and her daughter. We sat outside, had a nice lunch and took the kids for iced cream. We then headed up towards the beach and walked along the boardwalk.
The sun felt so good on my skin, like a warm blanket.
I was home again. In the place I grew up. So many familiar sites and sounds. The usual myriad of bicycles, walking and surfers. The whisps of beige sand and crashing waves. Sitting on the benches and extending our legs so our feet could rest on the boardwalks steel railings, just as I used to when I was Luciano’s age.
It was also the first time in over a year that Luciano and I did anything together. By ourselves. He and I used to do so much together on weekends. Now we cross paths on his way out to see friends. To spend an afternoon with him was a rare treat.
I could have gone to the cemetery in the morning, before we left. I could have gone to the cemetery at 4pm upon arriving home.
Second week in a row.
I feel like shit.
Anthony needs me to be there. He is all alone in that crypt. I know, I know, he’s not alone in Heaven, not by a long shot. He has many family members and friends to keep him busy.
However he is the only gravesite in his row in the mausoleum. The remaining graves belong to our family, however they’re empty.
I wish his gravesite was empty. I wish he was home.
When I visit him it’s our time. He and I talk like we used to when he was alive. I can feel his presence. I can hear his voice. I press my cheek on the marble stone and it feels warm, despite the fact he is indoors and the room is usually chilly.
When I touch my son, the stone is warm. He is with me. He listens to me and misses me, just as much as I miss him.
I know Anthony wanted me to be with his younger brother. I am sure of it. Or else, the day trip wouldn’t have happened, Anthony is usually good about giving me his support and he always was very protective of both his brothers . All good things happen with him in my heart.
I am sure tho’ he did not plan on his mother not coming to see him.
I don’t blame him if he is really angry with me. I am angry at myself.
I now have to wait until Saturday to visit. The cemetery closes at 5pm, before I get home from work. No late evenings in the graveyard.
I will bring him a Starbucks, and hope he forgives me. If he’s a bit annoyed and distant, I will just have to take it and move forward.
I fucked up.
He deserves more effort from me.