I am kind of at a loss for words today. The last couple weeks the weight of my sons death seems to be crushing me. I've read that you can literally die from a broken heart. I'm kind of surprised I haven't. It has been 10 weeks since I last held my son and I would give anything to be able to do so again, even just one more time.
I remember the morning I dropped him off at daycare. He had a snotty nose, but the only thing that seemed to bother him was when I used the rubber suction ball to get some of it out. As usual my 3 year old, who is not a morning person, cried from the moment I woke him up until we arrived at their daycare ladies house. Boston was a truly funny little boy. I would pack him up in his car seat and bring both of them downstairs. Quinton always insisted I put him in the car first so I would set Boston right by the door, quickly buckle Q into his car seat and run back in to get my Bosty. He would always have what his daycare lady and I call "the crunchy eyebrow look" on his face. There is no way to describe it so here are a few pictures.
The funny faces he made were my most favorite thing on this earth. After arriving at their daycare and bringing them inside, I kissed Bosty's forehead a few times, gave Q a hug, and told their daycare lady that I was pretty happy that my mother was the one taking him to get his first shots that afternoon because I recall what a mess I was when Quinton got his. I told them I loved them and would see them later, and then I left.
It truly kills me to say I have now been without my son for longer than I had him. Not a day goes by that I don't constantly wonder why his perfect little self was taken from me. On Saturday the 24th, the day that marked Boston being gone for as long as he was here, my family and close friends released balloons in his memory. It was beautiful to have the people that know just how much was lost the day that he died there with me to help send my Bosty some love.
I was going to write a blog on the 24th, but couldn't bring myself to do it. This is what I shared on Facebook that day.
Well my darling fatboy, today is the day. I have now been without you for as many days as I had you. I am heart broken. Truly, completely, and utterly heart broken. Since you left I have clung tightly to knowing I had you for longer than you'd been gone. I no longer get to do that. I have cursed this day and begged that it not come, but here it is. I truly hope you're up there smiling and blowing spit bubbles, and that heaven is everything you deserve. Today I'm pretty mad at the angels that welcomed you because it just wasn't supposed to happen this way. You are supposed to be here with me. I am supposed to be laughing at those spit bubbles. My heart is supposed to be smiling at your beautiful face. Instead, I am left here silently screaming at how much this hurts. Do the angels tell you about me and how much I love you? Do they let you know just how much you are wanted? I
think that is one of the hardest parts, not knowing. Mothers are supposed to protect and guide their children and I just can't comprehend that I don't know if YOU know just how much I ache to do that.
I would never wish a single moment of sadness upon you, but I do hope you know that you have a mommy here on earth that misses you each second of the day. There is a gigantic and ruthless cloud that follows me around. It scares me, it taunts me, and it makes my life so very hard. That cloud came when you left, and now it will not leave no matter how much I beg it to disappear and give you back to me. I want you back. I want to know that you're okay. I want to kiss your fat cheeks. I want to sit with you in my arms for hours. I want to play with your silly hair. I want you next to me so that I can keep you safe, because that is how it should be. You here with me. Please come visit me in my dreams, Bosty. I need something besides this nightmare.
I don't think many people realize that this is not just a story, this is my life. My son was not some imaginary baby, I am not an imaginary mother. I am real. He is real. Our pain is real. He may not physically be on this earth anymore but that will never alter how significantly he changed our lives. Losing a child is not something anyone can wrap their minds around, even going through it myself I do not understand. I'm not sure how many people take our situation seriously. I constantly talk about my son and a lot of people don't know what to say, or get very uncomfortable when I do talk in
detail about him. All I can say is I know that there's not many words one can say to actually comfort me, but at one point I hadn't ever lost a child either. Now I have, and I will never give up on keeping his memory alive.
"The one who put gentle footprints on our hearts leaves a story worth telling."
