I’m sitting in bed typing this, sobbing. All day I’ve tried to push aside memories of what we were doing in this exact moment two years ago. But push aside I can do no longer. It’s all washing over me now. I’m caught in this huge ocean wave, drowning, figuratively speaking. Literally, I’m just choking on my own snot and tears.
As I write this it’s 11:09pm. It was about this time two years ago when, despite many voices to the contrary, I began to know something was seriously wrong – I started to contemplate our story ending other than happily. Such began the most torturous night of our lives watching, questioning, analyzing, every single one of your heart’s beats, until, in the wee hours of the morning of July thirteenth, your heart beat no longer, and they tried valiantly to save you. But it was too late.
I know I tell you often, but I’m so, so sorry.
In the earliest days, it seemed impossible to survive even just one more minute without you, and now, just like that, you’re two years old, and it doesn’t even seem real. I wish more than anything that I could see who you’d be today, that I could see you celebrating your birthday joyfully with your near-Irish-twin little brother – I know you two would have so much fun together. My heart continues to shatter for all that we are missing as a family, for all that we’ll continue to miss, for all that we’ll never get.
My time with you alive will forever be one of my greatest joys, and your death will forever be my greatest sorrow.
Losing you has been the reason for so many tears in nearly every day since and so much anger and anxiety and guilt and shame and fear to the point of complete exhaustion. But these emotions are felt so intensely because my love for you runs so deep. And, because of you, I also feel more strongly and appreciate more often and more sincerely. Never does a moment go by when your absence and also your impact isn’t profoundly felt.
Your death was senseless, but your life was, and still is, filled with purpose. When my time comes, I’ll know that, although it wasn’t an easy road, I experienced all life has to offer – extreme joy, devastating brutality, and everything in between. And though I would have given my own life to have had your story turn out any other way, this is one thing you’ve given me for which I’ll continue to be grateful.
In the meantime, tonight and every night, I’ll close my eyes and remember this quote I recently stumbled upon that reminds me of you… “You know that place between sleep and awake, the place where you can still remember dreaming? That’s where I will always love you. That’s where I’ll be waiting.”
Happy second heavenly birthday, my sweet boy. You are loved and missed beyond measure.