It’s a nice word but it doesn’t quite adequately capture what I am to have my boys in my life. It’s nice.. but it’s not strong enough. Humbled.. overjoyed… I don’t know. All of those words maybe. Of course, I’ve pretty much felt this way since the moment I pee’d on the stick and found out I was pregnant. Especially after the ultrasound when I saw them and heard their heartbeats. And with each day that goes by, and I get to know them better, I feel this way all over again and x’s 1000.
I am still reeling for my friend on the loss of her son. I read her blog yesterday and it sent me into another crying fit. She talked about how she finally did laundry and came across the clothes she was wearing the last time she held him. And there was a drool stain on her shirt from him and how she couldn’t bare to wash it. I don’t blame her one bit.
I still can’t wrap my brain around what has happened. Every day I see her siggie pics on our chat board with her son still there (of course) and I still can’t process that he’s gone. Or maybe I just don’t want to and if I ignore it, it will go away. But then I read her blog again. Or I see her most recent Facebook status. And I know it’s real. It really happened.
My sons are exactly one month younger than he was. I look at them every day and think.. what if? What if that were me? Yes, I know my sons are healthy and at this time, there is nothing to lead me to believe something will happen to one of them. But it’s hard not to ask yourself those questions and relate. This isn’t just another faceless person I read about in the daily paper obituary or heard about on tv. This child had a name and a face. He had two beautiful sisters and loving parents. He had a monkey shirt and match box cars.
I’ve survived a lot of crap in my days. But.. I don’t know if I could survive that. So I’ll continue to think of and pray for this family that somewhere out there, there is peace for them.