Time Moves On...

Hey kiddo...

It's been a month and a day since you were home, here, with us in Alpine. 

And a month since your last admit.

I woke up on the 9th and your heart rate was pretty high (139), but still, you were happy and playing and attentive. Daddy read "Harry Potter" and you loved listening to him. He'd share the pictures and all the Easter eggs in the illustrated books. 

By that night, you were struggling to maintain your sats so I gave up and called 911. You were admitted into the PICU about 5:00 the morning of December 10th, and I thought I knew how things would go. I even thought we'd be home in less than a week, maybe about 10 days before Christmas.

I guess you were Home for Christmas. And so was I. But we were not together, at least not physically. 

How has it been so long?

How has it not been so much longer?

Time is weird. I'm told that time doesn't exist where you are. Does that mean that when I get there, it will feel like we haven't been apart? There's so much I just don't know.

But I know I love you. You made me a much better me. 

It still seems so strange to have you gone, and my head can't wrap around the idea of you never being here again.

I'm sitting here listening to some music a sweet friend shared, missing you, knowing you're okay, but struggling still myself. 

I mean, most of the time I do okay. I go to work. I interact with others. I can even make phone calls about you without breaking down (most of the time). But by evening, I think I'm tired of being strong, and evening was when you and I had the most interaction as I would get meds ready and get you prepped for treatments and bed and such. It's when you would laugh at me and play with your toys. And nights seem so dark, especially this time of year. 

Love you, little man. Miss you... 

"Death ends a life, not a relationship."

— Mitch Albom