One of the best gifts we gave you for Christmas 2010 was a personalized Pottery Barn "go anywhere" fold-out chair. When Momma bought it, I had visions of you taking it to grandma and grandpa's house for sleepovers. Folding it out on our TV room floor while we watched movies on Friday nights. You sitting in it to cheer on the Cardinals on spring afternoons and the Rams in the fall.
The chair was purchased with a long future in mind. We had your name embroidered along the top with a little football. And you LOVED it. For the next three weeks, that chair was your home. You would drag all your toys and books and stuffed animals to the floor surrounding the chair, and there you would sit. A tiny king on his navy blue throne. You played, slept, watched TV, read books, and entertained Momma's heart in that chair. I remember coming home from work one night to find you totally chillaxin' in the chair with your froggy, watching sparkly Vanna White on WHEEL! OF! FORTUNE! It was as close to perfect as life could get.
The day after you died, I sat in your little blue chair and cried until I ran out of tears. The chair became a symbol of everything we lost. The precious, happy moments. The lazy, blissful weekend afternoons. The potential future. In the subsequent months, it sat in your room, alone and empty, gathering dust. In an attempt to cheer it up, I sat your giant stuffed bear in the seat...but his presence only obscured your name and made Momma more sad.
And then we started to prepare for The Bean. Over the course of several months, your old room took on a fresh coat of paint, new furniture, a Very Hungry Caterpillar theme. But, the navy chair still sat there with a fine layer of dust. What to do, what to do...?
Momma grappled with thoughts of buying The Bean his own, new chair. But, what would we do with your chair? Sit it next to his? Keep it empty forever? That idea struck Momma as so unfair to The Bean, and to you. Dadda and I finally realized - you loved that chair. And you were an amazing sharer. In the end, we ordered a new personalized slipcover for your little brother. In bright, froggy green with navy blue embroidery. Very much his own chair, with a nod to his big brother.
So, on this second Easter weekend without you, Dadda took on the task. He slowly removed your navy blue slipcover and replaced it with the new, springtime green one. The tears were inevitable. Here it is...the last item that still bears traces of you. Your DNA. Your crumbs, hair - even your slobber. And Dadda asked, "Do we wash it?" My heart screamed NO! but my brain ordered my head to nod "yes." As I type this letter, it is in the washing machine. We will get it sparkly clean, fold it up, and place it in your special trunk.
Peanut, I am so sorry. While I believe this is what you want - and you are smiling as you picture The Bean playing on your chair - I still feel an overwhelming amount of guilt. Please know, Momma is doing her best. Her best to honor you. To make you proud. To make some sense of your loss.
Momma is sending you love, hugs and butterfly kisses - to the moon and back. Times infinity.
|My favorite Easter picture of you...from 2010.|
|"The Chair" - along with Froggy and Bear.|