Your little brother has been fighting a summer cold over the last few days. His runny nose, rattling cough and red-rimmed eyes have been an eerie reminder of the days leading up to your death. My brain says, "It can't happen again" but my heart is doubtful.
Saturday morning your brother slept in. A very quiet sleep. A much needed bout of sleep, I'm sure, but it caused the hairs on the back of Momma's neck to stand on end. Flat on my back, gripping our sheets in my fists, I stood firm. I will not assume the worst. I will not walk into his room expecting an unresponsive little boy.
And then, after what felt like years...
A giant sigh and giggle. From Pickle.
Music to Momma's ears.
These days any breath, sigh, laugh, cry Momma hears over the monitor is a gift. A gift we didn't receive with you the morning of January 26, 2011.
Momma wonders, will it ever go away? That sense of "he could die in his sleep at any time"? Perhaps, but I don't think so. My view of the world is altered, more fatalistic. I am afraid to hope for more.
For now I am beside myself with joy every time I hear a breath, a snore, a giggle, a cry, a grunt while The Pickle sleeps. Momma wishes she had heard the same from you after 3:30 am the morning you died. The last time I checked on you.
Oh Peanut, I miss you. Love and butterfly kisses...to the moon- and back!
|An under-the-weather but very happy Peanut days before he died.|