I'll tell you all about it when I see you again

Bosty,

I want so badly to see you and know that you're okay. It's kind of ironic when you think about it, you're gone so hoping you're okay might not make sense to some, but I know you're out there somewhere and I want to know how you're doing wherever that place is. I've been thinking about this a lot lately and have decided I think it's time for me to sort through my beliefs as far as where you are. I believe in angels and when I refer to where you are I call it Heaven. I 100% believe there is some type of spiritual abyss that souls wander when they pass and I know that I will see you there when my time on earth is done, but as far as actual religion goes I have to be honest and say I am very perplexed by it. It's not that I don't want to believe that there is a higher power, but I'm not sure where to start as far as understanding how to do so.

When I think about when we finally get to be together I imagine it being in the presence of the most beautiful of sun rises and sun sets. I imagine the feeling of freedom, serenity, and absolute calm. I imagine that pain does not exist there nor any earthly worries, I say this because I believe that you can see me but that you do not know the pain of us being separated or the weight of the time we are forced to be apart because your soul is at peace. As "silly" as it may sound I imagine our souls roaming together through sunshine and blue skies in a place where time does not exist, a place where you and me will get our forever and I will forget that I ever had to be without you. I like to think of this place. It is so much different than the reality I live in now. 

My chapter here on earth is one I am trying to learn to navigate with a positive mind and hopeful heart, but this is easier said than done. It's so hard to explain because your baby brother has brought me brighter days and the will to smile and believe the future is a happy one, but at the very core of me is your death and when the pain of losing you forced itself into my being it left no room for the simple parts of life or myself. Every decision I make, every thought I have, everything that I do is now some sort of aftermath reaction to your death. It is impossible to ignore how much your death still affects me now that your brother is here. I constantly repeat positive affirmations in my head over and over and over again because over and over and over again this sick part of my mind thinks about all of the awful things that could happen. For example, your grandma took Paxton on a walk in a wearable baby carrier the other day. The whole time all I could think was what if she forgets to make sure his head is facing to the side so he can breathe? What if someone isn't paying attention while driving and hops the curb and runs them over? What if they come across an aggressive dog and it attacks them? I wish so much I could say my mind only waged these wars on me sometimes, but it is all day every day no matter what we are doing. When we are driving what if someone hits us? When we go anywhere what if he catches germs and gets sick and ends up in the hospital? What if I trip walking down the stairs and squish him? What if someone drops him? What if I buckle him in his car seat too tight and he stops breathing? What if someone accidentally falls asleep with him? What if he chokes? What if he has an allergy and we don't know until he has some horrible reaction? What if I lay him down for a nap and he doesn't wake up? 

Sleep is quite scarce for me, not because your brother is fussy or won't sleep well, but because I feel compelled to stare at him into the wee hours of the morning to make sure that he is breathing. I can't even leave him upstairs long enough to wash his bottles without checking on him numerous times. I am so thankful for him as he has brought me happiness I never thought I would have again, but it comes with a price. I think I have been especially on edge lately because he is nearing the exact same age you were. Sometimes it feels like I'm having some weird form of deja vu. This Thursday he has his two month shots. I am having a very hard time with this because that is what you were supposed to be doing when you died. It's such a uniquely sad thought to know that he is already going to be doing something you didn't live long enough to do and is a painful reminder of how irreversibly short my time with you got cut. 

I feel like your baby brother already knows you. I see pieces of you in him and sometimes when I'm holding him and my mind drifts off to thoughts of you, he gives me this look like he just knows. 

I choose to take certain things as a sign from you, like this morning as I was playing him lullabies on YouTube and the song "See you again" came on. I adore the moments I feel you and I really cannot wait until I can tell you all about it.

You will always be a part of our lives, angel boy. I promise.