As May 7th approaches, I’m filled with thoughts of your memory. May 7th, the last day I was able to physically hold you. In my mind I knew what the day would bring, but my heart wasn’t ready. I couldn’t let someone so precious go so soon. Looking down at you I was hit with a shocking realization that I was being selfish. I wanted to continue to hold your hand all through life until it was my time to transition, but right then in my presence is where your body was receiving the most pain.
So I released you and asked that you be free from pain. I knew that although you were not physically with me I would still have the comfort of your memories. I remember not long after you left, I had a dream of you. In that dream I walked up to my granny who was rocking and holding a child. That child was you. I told her your name and she looked at me as if I was crazy. She told me she knew who her grandchild was and then resumed rocking.
I wanted to stay in that moment longer, but the smile she gave me and her eyes let me know it was time to leave. So I did with a sense of contentment. I no longer had you, but I knew you were safe in the very arms that helped mold me into the woman I am today. I will always miss you and I will always love. I just have to do it from a distance now.
On May 7th, I celebrate your life and everything it was. You fought bravely to make it into this world with hydrocephalus and through every surgery. You surpassed the time you were initially given and gave me so many moments to cherish. I’m so proud to have a son like you and if given the chance I would do it all over again by your side.