It started yesterday--the first day of a month one year ago that was marked by memories of hard breathing, respiratory distress, two hospital visits, and scary days and nights at home in between. The month of final, irreversible decline. Every day that I drive downtown to work, I cry remembering those drives to the children's hospital one year earlier.
Yesterday, Colin reminded us of the void he feels. He told God during his nightly prayer that he wishes he had another brother. As a parent, you want to do whatever it takes to remove any void, any pain in your child's heart But how on Earth are two forty-something, sad, heartbroken, screwed-up parents supposed to seek out another child? Not that I don't think about it...
Today, Colin told me he thought about Dylan's memorial and got sad.
So that's the first two days of October. 29 more to go.
For now, I've committed to writing something--no matter how small or poorly crafted--for every day in the last month of my littlest one's life. Seems like it's at least better than just crying.
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