This afternoon Momma was lounging on the couch, Pickle nestled in my arms cooing and laughing, while Secretariat played on TV. Henry snoozed in his crate, and the ceiling fans whirred away to battle the 92 degree heat that has blanketed St. Louis. The house was peaceful, quiet, still.
And I burst into tears.
You see, Peanut, the scene was almost perfect. With one major exception. You aren't here. And I realized, there will never, ever be a "perfect" moment again in my life. Every triumph, every celebration, every momentous occasion will feel incomplete.
So...this is what they mean when they say the second year is harder than the first. The first year is all about the milestones and survival. Just getting out of bed in the morning. Taking a shower. Eating. Year two seems to be about coming to terms with reality. The future. A lifetime without my little boy.
I saw this quote earlier this week from the founder of The Compassionate Friends, and it spoke to me:
"Gifts our loved ones have given us can't be measured in the years they lived. These gifts are measured by the love we shared with them."
Peanut, the love I share with you is what drives Momma to continue to live a full lifetime. To move beyond mere survival. To be better. Stronger. Kinder. In 16.5 months of life you gave me a lifetime of love and lessons. I only wish there had been more time. A lifetime of Peanut hugs and kisses.
I miss you more than ever. I love you more than ever. How much? To the moon - and back.
- Momma
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| Playing with Aunt Colleen's kitchen storage containers. Fun! |
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