Gray Days

Originally Posted March 25, 2023

Gray days are for grieving.  I can curl up in the quiet of your room, look at your photos, hold your things, rock in our chair and shut out the world.  It brings such relief, like setting down the world's heaviest backpack for a few minutes.  I know after a few hours I have to pick it back up and soldier on -- pretending I'm fine -- but at least I have brief moments of rest.  

Spring has been an affront to my senses.  How can the trees bloom and the skies be so blue?  How can there be beauty in the world when you are no longer here?  It feels wrong somehow.  It doesn't match the feelings in our home and in our hearts.  Your brother and sister miss you terribly.  I know their grief is heavy, but I can't carry it.  I can barely carry my own.

You didn't make it to five years old, as we always thought you would.  I don't know why it matters, or why this birthday cuts so deep.  I think for me it's finally having the time to grieve all the limitations and suffering in your little life.  Finally feeling the anger over what was done to you.  Wrestling with extending forgiveness or fighting for justice. Always wishing that those who hurt you understood the depth of what you endured.  And how brave you were until the very end. We are so proud of you, buddy. And we are so angry about the lack of accountability for your injuries and death. Daddy says it's okay if I'm not ready, but I think it's time to finish your headstone and allow you to rest in the special place we have chosen for you.  It feels like an important step in moving forward, even though it doesn't necessarily feel good.  We will build your playground at Goddard Place.  We will give the warmies and big hugs to your doctors at the hospital.  We will find a million other ways to remind the world how blessed we were to have you.  We will work hard to support struggling families, and try to prevent as many children as possible from suffering the kind of abuse that took your life.  We will love you and miss you every minute of every day until we are together again.