Three Months Without You

 Somehow, three months have passed without you. So very much has changed in those three months, even as we are trying to hold the scraps of what used to be together, everything changes. Our routine was centered around you, and you aren't here, and it's hard. So very, very hard.

Often, my brain wants to believe that you're just at the hospital, and that you'll be coming home any day now. Denial. Then I get angry that you're gone. That I won't get to hold you. I won't get to see your smile and hear you air your grievances to the night nurse. I'm angry that we didn't get one more Christmas with you--one more family picture. One more day. I'd give anything to be complaining about you pulling out your trach five times in a row, or the no-nurse weekends, or how many appointments you have this week. Bargaining. The ache in my chest is vast and sometimes overwhelming. Every time we donate, return, or sell something that was yours feels like losing a piece of you and it is hard and I just want to cry and for everything to stay the same. Depression. But there is comfort in knowing that the items are going to be used by someone who needs them. That they will do some good rather than sitting unused in our house. We are turning your room into a game room--a room where we spend time and continue to bond as a family. We aren't erasing you; your memory will be with us forever, and we celebrate the time we had with you. Acceptance and hope. Your older sister can't bear to go into your room yet, but we're hoping that in time, she will find comfort in your space as I have. I spend much of my time sitting in your room these days. It's where I'm writing this post, on the chair I used to hold and rock you. Your bed still sits to my right, and I can almost imagine you playing next to me. Some day soon, we will donate your bed to another who needs it, but today is not that day. 

The stages of grief are not linear, nor are they complete once we've gone through them. Instead, they cycle like a tangled ball of string, sometimes caught up in more than one at a time. I'm very grateful for every person who has reached out to us, and especially those who continue to reach out even now.

It seems like your passing was just yesterday, and also an eternity ago. Your sweet, mischievous personality will live on in memories told with a smile. I wish I had taken more photos and videos of you this last year, but you had a knack of stopping and turning away from the camera whenever it was on. You were such a teenager in so many ways, and you were starting to look like quite the little man at thirteen. You even needed your face shaved, which ended up being quite the challenge every time we did it.

Despite the challenges we/you had, you were a light in our life. We are better for having had the opportunity to raise you, and grow with you. When you were first born, we had a lot of fear and sorrow, but a lot of love and determination as well. We are thankful you gave us thirteen and a half years, and wouldn't trade them for anything (well, for another thirteen and a half 😉). You are our Little Mister, and always will be.