26280 Hours

How is it possible? Three years; 36 months; 152 weeks; 1,095 days... of this life without you. It doesn't matter that we knew the day would come. There was still a part of me that wishes it wouldn't come. Wishing every single second of every single day and it still didn't matter. The day still came. It still seems like a nightmare, a nightmare that I want to wake up from. But one I will never, never, ever wake up from. 

September 14, 2016, at approximately 10:00 PM, Mommy and Daddy came into kiss you good night, to tell you we loved you. You looked so tired. You looked at us with your big, beautiful brown eyes and quietly told us you were ready to go to heaven. You had never said yes before, all the other times we asked you...you said no. I still remember the feeling of sickness I had when you said yes. It took everything in me to find the words and the way to tell you "to go". It took all we could to not break down as we told you to go and that we would be OK. But that was bullshit, complete and utter bullshit. We knew we needed to say that, you needed to hear from us that we would be OK. You needed to believe we would be OK. What is OK? OK? That is the answer I give to others when they ask how we are? OK. That is the answer others want to hear. They don't want to hear the truth, the truth...we are still broken and we will always be broken. 

Wednesday night, September 11, 2019...as we lite the yahrzeit candle, I struggled with the fact that it's been 3 years. Three years since you were in our home, laying in your bed, breathing...regardless of how tired and weak you were; you were here. How much we wanted you here didn't matter...it didn't and doesn't matter, you still took your last breath while you were sleeping. I think you took your last breath while you were sleeping for us; so we wouldn't have to watch you take that one last breath. It still just sucks...all of it sucks, it's just not right. Parents aren't supposed to bury their children. The natural order is not for a child to pass away before; a mother and a father ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO BURY THEIR CHILD. But that doesn't matter as it became our order. Our order was for you to go first, before Mommy, Daddy and Becca. Somehow we have to find a way to accept it. But is "accept it" really the way to explain it. Accept it doesn't seem right. But how else? I'm not sure I will ever be able to find way to "accept it". I won't ever accept it. Some days I want to scream and tell the world what they can't see...all the grief and heartache inside. What people can't see on the days when my mask is on, what people can't see on the days when all I want to do is stay in bed and be with you in some ways by cuddling with some of your stuffed animals or pillow pets; just anything that you have touched.

You were 13 years old. There was not a day in your life when you weren't in pain. Not a day when you fought to be here. You fought so hard on some days, some days you had to fight harder than others. We had so many dreams for you. But because of two letters being switched, two fucking letters...all of those dreams were smatched. Dreams taken away. Dreams that we had even before you and Becca were born. We will never see you go to high school, graduate high school, have your first kiss, first girlfriend...you get the point. There is not a second, minute, hour, day, week, month, year...that my heart is broken. A piece gone, it will never be whole again.  

REST EASY MY SWEET BABY BOY. 

MAY HIS MEMORY ALWAYS BE FOR A BELSSING!