This little person, my son, has had such a huge impact on my life and has a hold of my heart. Every month I take time to remember him and grieve him. This past 8th was no different. It was odd to me how in many ways this month felt really surreal, like my brain couldn’t comprehend all that had happened. That I really did have a son. He really did die. I found myself sleeping with and holding his hat for several days leading up to the 8th. I wanted his hat in particular because it had blood on it. It made it all real, it allowed me to feel like I was closer to HIM. I needed something real. I needed something tangible.
The 8th always is tricky as it feels so obvious to me that he is missing and yet the rest of the world goes on. I don’t mind that they do, I’m not hurt by it. Although there’s always that twinge of wondering if one day he will be forgotten. And then there’s my sweet friend Julie. Every single month on the 8th she goes to his grave, takes a picture and sends it to me and tells me she loves me. She hasn’t forgotten. He has not been forgotten. And it makes my heart full every. single. time.