I always second guess myself when I open up this blog to write. I seem to only feel called to write when I’m having one of those days, when my heart feels pulled to my little heart angel in Heaven. I feel guilty for not writing about the good days, about the girls or Carter. But on days like today, the need to share my grief is so strong.
Halloween and the day that follows will always be bittersweet days for our family. October 31st was the last “normal” night for our Holden. The last night his little body looked perfect from the outside. The last night his bedtime routine included a bath and snuggles instead of multiple meds and monitors. The last night he nursed to sleep instead of being hooked up to a feeding pump. I didn’t even dress him in a costume, naively believing that he would have many more years to dress up. He never saw his second Halloween.
Two years ago today, we took our brave boy in for the surgery that would alter our lives forever. I didn’t know that Halloween night would be the last of so many things, but I don’t know that we would have done anything differently. He was so loved, and I think he knew it. I so hope he knew.
I hate these morbid anniversaries that I can’t seem to forget. I hate measuring my months and years by the days they contain that break my heart. I miss him every single day- that never changes. Some days, like today, are harder than others. I can’t always predict them. Sometimes, the pain surprises me and leaves me breathless. My eyes fill constantly with tears, even as I try to keep smiling through them for the sake of everyone else. I sit and stare at his pictures, trying to imagine what our lives would be like if he were still a part of them. I stare, fixated, remembering how soft his skin was. How shiny and beautiful every scar on his body looked. How he could scrunch his little face up into the "bull face", and wrap everyone he met around his little finger. How his eyes seemed much older than his seventeen months, as if he knew so much more than we ever would. How he greeted each day with a smile, even the days he knew would bring nothing but pain.
I wanted nothing more than for God to make that pain go away- to make him all better. To heal his sick little heart. I couldn’t know, then, that healing Holden’s heart would mean breaking ours.
I miss you, little man. Beyond words. Beyond explanation. Beyond measure.
