harder

It’s getting harder, harder to breathe, to move, to…anything. My little goober-walkie, I miss everything about you, everything. Most of all I miss the weight of you in my arms. I miss the way you would squeeze your little legs over my left hip where you always sat, when I was cooking dinner, when I was trying to go to the bathroom, when I was cleaning, there you were. I’ve decided I’m going to get a tattoo sitting on that hip, extending up my left side and ending on my left shoulder where so very many nights you laid your precious blonde curly head. It will be orange flowers. I haven’t decided which flowers but the ones near my hip representing the beginning of your amazing life will be barely open, like your personality was then. The bloom on my shoulder will be an explosion of orange, exactly how I remember you. I need this. I need you there forever.

Your dad and I are trying so hard to honor your life, to honor the God who blessed us with you. I want to know exactly what heaven is like. I want to know what you are smelling and seeing. I want to know if you have a puppy to carry around by its neck and if you sleep with your perfect little blonde head laid on Jesus’ shoulder now. It’s insane but I keep thinking “he’s there without his mommy and daddy!” as if you will be lonely or afraid. It’s me that’s lonely and afraid. I want to go home. I want to dance with you in fields of grace. I miss you booger bear. I miss you.