Exactly 7 months ago tonight, on Tuesday, January 25, I got my last-ever Connor hug. I treated it like just another hug. Just another night. I was so focused on getting you comfortable, and back to sleep, I'm not sure I really paid enough attention to the fierce Peanut love transferred in that last hug. That last kiss. That last whisper of, "Momma" before I turned on your nightlight and closed your door.
All those little things I took for granted. The little things we all take for granted. I assumed we would have the next 80 years with you. It never crossed my mind how fleeting our time might be. Because "other people" have bad things happen to them. Other people's children die. Other people have to figure out how to survive the loss of their child. But, not us. Right?
Wrong. The veil has been lifted. The innocence is gone. The belief that I had earned heaps of good karma and the right to enjoy happiness thanks to a lifetime of working hard, of trying to be a good person, of loving my beautiful child with my entire being - that belief has been destroyed.
Instead, we are left with a lifetime of memories, pictures, stories of you. We are left with the lessons you taught us in your short time on earth. We are left to piece together a new life, a new normal. We are challenged to be better, more loving, more forgiving. We are left with the knowledge that we will see you again, that heaven does exist, and our reunion with you will be pure magic. We are left with small, but impactful visits from you via butterflies, froggies, and dreams.
I am re-sharing a beautiful blog posting from our favorite photographer and wonderful friend, Heidi Drexler. She posted this the day after you died. I viewed it again tonight, and it brought a flood of tears and memories. It is...wonderful.
Peanut, I'm sending you so much love tonight, my heart just might burst. To the moon and back.