You were really so beautiful, with a head full of dark hair, Peyton's cheekbones and my nose and chin. A perfect combination of us.
You were so small. I often wonder what you would have looked like with a few more pounds on you, and how you would have learned to smiled at us. Your knees were so charmingly knobby and your precious gigantic feet were an exact replica of your father's. You poor child.
I wonder what you would have taught me.
You would have had a scar on your chest that would have grown with you, a testament to your fighting will. You would have shown everyone how it was possible to move mountains with 4 fingers, and I am sure that even though you would have been sassy and smart, your soul would have been tender. I would have looked into your brown eyes and been wise to your facade, but as a testament of my love for you, would have never given away your secret.
I know you, even though you aren't here physically. You are strong and calm when I feel myself growing weak. You remind me of the beauty in the color orange, of the smell of the impending summer, and in little girls pink Barbie sandals. You bring the joy of music into my head, so much so that I can envision myself dancing, like I did when I was a carefree kid. You give me ideas for future plans to oceans, warm sands and swimming lazily in the Atlantic. I imagine you showing me seagulls and jellyfish in their transparent bubble. Look Mom, you'll say, look at the different shades of blue in their bells.
I miss you in those moments, because it is our spirits communicating in the ways we should have grown to. How adult and wise you are. I never had the chance to show you how to be that person, you learned all on your own, quickly, in order to get me out of that dark place. That place you never intended me to be, a place I would just sit in and let the sand fill the hole around me. I didn't even want to look up from that place when I heard you call my name, because all I could see was blackness. You kept calling, telling me to stand, that you were there. My heart was too heavy to be held up by my legs, but you were insistent.
When I did manage to stand, you said to hold out my hand. I wouldn't, complained how it wasn't enough. You should be here with me, still growing, still kicking me with your mammoth feet.
You said it had to be enough. Please Mom. Please grab my hand.
And I did because the sand was beginning to sting my eyes, particles finding their way into my lungs. It was getting to be too much to breathe. OK, sweet boy, I finally whispered. OK.
I felt your grip.
You pulled me up out of that hole, whispered to my heart that you loved me and to stop being sad. And to honor you, I made you the promise that I would try every day to not fall back in.
Some days are so much easier than others.
Stay with me, my sweet boy. Don't go too far, I beg.
I am always here.