“Tu me manqués”. In French, that translates to “You are missing from me.” I love that – as it is far more accurate than to simply say, “I miss you”. (Although, also true.) Today is June 2nd…as of today, you have been missing from me for eleven months. You will be missing from me, every single day, for the rest of my life.
“Tu me manqués.” The French are brilliant. The French are sexy. The French are in love with love. The French also love bread. Best of all, the French drink wine…all the time. My friend, Lisa, in Los Angeles may be onto something in telling me to take my broken heart to France.
This weekend was not an easy one. Most of them aren’t. For the first time in my life, I am NOT a fan of the weekend. (Don’t ask me how I intend to get through summer….which is, in essence, one never-ending-torturous weekend.) The weekends go extremely slow. Each day is impossibly long – and the nights, well, those are even longer. As usual, I spent most of the weekend alone. My company basically consisted of my thoughts. Well, my thoughts and a Milwaukee County Sheriff who introduced himself after pulling me over on Saturday. “Hi. Not nice to meet you sir. Yes. I know why you pulled me over. You want to make my day shittier than it is naturally.” I was flying, Paxton. But, it was not entirely my fault. There wasn’t another soul on the road…the sun was out…and JT was on the radio. Further, I was driving Nana’s brand new whip. Given it is far sassier than Momma’s car, I couldn’t even tell I was moving – much less that I was going 80 mph. (Yes, I know…a tad excessive.) In addition to accidentally speeding, there was no ‘proof of insurance’ in Nana’s car. So, the friendly Sheriff gave me a ticket for that too. Truth be told, the Sheriff actually was quite friendly – but only because he found me to be quite amusing. Ultimately, he felt badly enough that he “gave me a discount”…and only charged me for 19 mph over, instead of 25 mph, which apparently significantly reduces the price of the ticket. But I’m still mad at him. Needless to say, despite the fact that Mr. Sheriff and I got along swimmingly, Momma is still out a million hundred dollars, 4 points, and a squeaky clean driving record. To salt the wound, I was racing around town to get to the store to buy food to make a “dish to pass”…for a party I ended up not being able to attend. Quite an expensive dish to pass right into my garbage. But, I did anyway – because, I could care less.
I wonder if they have speed limits in France? I bet they don’t…at least not for moms who’ve lost their only child – especially when she’s en route to a party, which marks the first real plan she’s had in three weeks. If the Municipale accidentally pulled me over, for accidentally speeding, I bet un policier would’ve given me a hug, a baguette, and a bottle of wine. He probably would’ve told me to screw the appetizer – and advised me to head directly to the party, as fast as I damn well pleased.
So another day, another weekend, another month without you has come and gone. Life without you is so abundantly sad and wholly empty that words will never suffice to explain it. I know in the very, very depths of my bones that this was not your destiny. You were not supposed to get sick. You certainly were not supposed to die at the age 20 weeks and 1 day. You were bound for greatness, Paxton. I am your Momma, so by default – I know things about you that no one else in the world could ever know. It’s not their fault that they don’t know; they are not your Momma. Being your Momma is my job, and my job alone. Part of that job is to follow my instincts….the same instincts that kept telling me something was very wrong with you. My intuition also tells me that there is something very wrong with many things which have occurred in my life. I don’t care what anyone tries to riddle me in efforts to help make sense of complete nonsense. I know I am right when I say…all of these “events” are entirely wrong.
This is a photo of the Pont de l’Archevêché in Paris – more commonly known as the “Locks of Love” bridge. This breath-taking attraction allures visitors from across the globe. Two people, who love each other, inscribe their names on a padlock, attach the lock to the fence on the bridge, and throw the key in the river. Legend has it, that this act solidifies their love as one which will last forever. Momma needs to get to this bridge. I will get an extra fabulous padlock. I will write “Momma & Paxton” on one side, and “Danna & Diddy” on the other. I will lock up our love. I will throw away the key. It will last forever…and ever…because France says so.
I miss you. I love you.
Stay with me, Sweet Boy.