Missing you terribly

I never really knew about death before my son passed. I had attended a couple of my great grandparents funerals and recall how different they were in the times I had visited them right before they died, but there is truly nothing like holding your child and feeling life escape them. He continuously got colder as I held him. The feeling of resting my cheek on his forehead is forever etched into my being.

It bothered me at first to touch his skin while at the hospital, because that is just not how the Bosty I knew felt. It was not my precious baby boy that I had woken up right next to less than 10 hours before. It was not the baby I laid in bed with in my arms feeding while waiting for the sun to rise. It was not the boy who's forehead I kissed multiple times before leaving their daycare unknowingly seeing him alive for the last time. 

I was use to him laying in my arms while watching Quinton wreak havoc in our living room. I was use to the Bosty that napped for hours as I held him, not the one that got colder by the minute all wrapped up in hospital blankets. He still had his sleeper on and his own blanket around him, but had a large white hospital sheet wrapped tightly around him also. His right eye for some reason always stayed ever so slightly open when he was asleep. It was the same way the day that he died. Shortly before having to say my last goodbyes to him my grandma was sitting next to me as I held him and I remember her saying "Oh Boston, close those eyes." She ran her fingers over his eyelids, forever closing that tiny little slit he peaked out of. 

I am traumatized to say the least. It took about 6 weeks for the reality of it all to hit me but in the last month I have not had even one remotely okay day. Not that I have really had any since his death, but there was at least days that I could function. I can't seem to do that anymore. I literally drive to work and sit outside trying to convince myself to go in. I can't really describe the war that rages inside of myself. I try to tell myself that I can do it and I want more than anything to make my sweet angel proud, along with his big brother, but there is something inside of me constantly screaming to just go home or to his daycare providers house. That's usually where I end up. I know not many people understand how I can go there, let alone accept anything that the woman who last saw my son alive has to say, but I feel him when I am there and know how much she loved him. She made him his own cubby when I was about 7 and a half months pregnant. His name is still plastered in big blue letters in the same place. 

The first time I went to her house after his death was the same day I went to his doctors office and had his pediatrician explain his autopsy to me. The report was quite obvious in the sense that it repeatedly stated "no abnormalities" but I had a few questions anyways. I cried the whole way there and almost left after parking my car outside of her house. It was a terrifying form of déjà vu to drive along the roads I had typically taken to drop my children off. I had actively avoided them until that day. It took me a few weeks after my first time there to go into the room he had technically died in. 

I wish more than anything I could know the exact second my son took his last breath. It probably sounds morbid but I wish I could see it for myself, exactly what happened in his last moments. What was he thinking? Was he scared? Did he want his mommy? I would have ran so fast...

The room he was in was a peaceful one. The pack n play was placed right next to her own daughters bed. It is a maroon colored room and a small lamp served as just the right amount of light for nap time along with the slight sunshine that seeped through the blinds. People have treated her as if she is a criminal. I wish they knew what I do and could understand the second she picked my child up out of that pack n play that her entire life came crashing down too. She told me she screamed "Boston, breathe!" He didn't. I'm not mad at my son, but I wish I could ask him why he left. He was so very loved and wanted and knowing I won't ever have that answer is debilitating. 

Until a few days ago I haven't really touched the urn that holds my sons ashes. I have walked passed it many of times, and not that I've ignored it because I am always well aware of it's presence, but I haven't had it in me to really pick it up until recently. It is tiny and very light and it never fails to shock me that the precious boy I loved with all my heart now resides in a vase. 

I miss you, Boston. Every. Single. Day. 

"Come up to meet you
Tell you I'm sorry

You don't know how lovely you are

I had to find you

Tell you I need you

Tell you I set you apart

Tell me your secrets

And ask me your questions

Oh let's go back to the start

Running in circles; coming up tails

Heads on a science apart

Nobody said it was easy
It's such a shame for us to part

Nobody said it was easy
No one ever said it would be this hard

Oh take me back to the start

I was just guessing at numbers and figures

Pulling your puzzles apart

Questions of science; science and progress

Do not speak as loud as my heart

Tell me you love me

Come back and haunt me

Oh and I rush to the start

Running in circles, chasing our tails

Coming back as we are

Nobody said it was easy

Oh it's such a shame for us to part

Nobody said it was easy

No one ever said it would be so hard

I'm going back to the start.."