Last night I was approached by an 17 year old hostess who works for me. She said that she had been bottling it up inside, but needed to tell me that although she could never imagine my pain and couldn't level with me personally, she was deeply sorry for my son passing. She said it with such adult emotion and such sincerity that all I could do was smile. Strange reaction but she is one of two people who experienced my pregnancy with me to even brave mentioning it. For her to be so young and so capable of speaking on a topic obviously taboo in most eyes and to level with me like that brought me a bit of peace. She asked me who he looked like and how he passed and allowed me, for just a minute, to verbally remember Leo.
I feel like the further I get from his birth/death, the further I get from him. It has almost become the opposite of healing. To talk about him for just a minute gave me the ability to resurface those images I think I bury a little too deep in my mind. Ever since that moment I have played the slide show of his little welcome into and out of my world over and over. His beautiful face paired with the lack of his beautiful soul and how much I wish I had taken more pictures of him. The few times I kissed his little nose and wished that a tiny breath would escape those nostrils....
He was my last thought before I went to sleep and my first memory when I awoke.
I thanked the young lady last night but I don't think she understood the incredible importance of what she did. She allowed Leo to reenter my mind and for his face to float around in my memory after weeks of suppression. It is almost as if she allowed him to come back for a bit. I'm sure with the absolute raw emotion I let out when I sit here and think of him, that I will rebury his images to protect myself. I will place them so deep in my heart and mind that they will require the random scratching of the surface before he can dig his way back into my fore mind. I don't think Leo holds it against me. Maybe I hold it against myself...
