If only heaven had a phone number...

A letter I wrote to my son yesterday

Bosty, 

Exactly 15 weeks ago I was holding your dad's hand hanging on for dear life as we proceeded into the chapel following your casket. The day that you died will always be the worst day of my life. I thought I would think the same of your visitation and funeral but 3 and a half months later I'm sitting here wishing that I could go back, even to those awful days, just so I could at least see you in front of me again. It wasn't the same you, but I could still kiss your forehead and your cheeks and hold your hand. 15 weeks ago I saw you for the very last time and I want to run back to that day and beg them like I had wanted to please wait a little longer to close that lid. After the service had started we placed a cloth over your casket. Your big brother asked me to pick him up, rested his head on my shoulder, and asked me in one of the saddest voices I've ever heard "Mom, my baby brother in there?" I squeezed him and said "Yes, sweetie, he is." 

I constantly wonder if you know how much we miss you. I am holding onto the hope that you do as tightly as I held onto your dad's hand that day. I had heard the saying "When it rains, it pours." long before you died, but only now do I understand just how true that is. 

I am so scared, fatboy. Scared that I will always feel this way, scared that I won't ever be able to give your brother a happy mom, scared of the years to come knowing that no matter what stage of grief I'm in, it will always be there. 

Grief is an ugly, heart breaking, and debilitating thing. I know it's all part of the "healing process" but I'd give anything to know you instead of this. 

Come visit me in my dreams sweet boy, please. 

All my love,

Mommy

"I'll love you forever

 I'll like you for always

 as long as I'm living 

 my baby you'll be"