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| Aaron & Linnaea May 2023 |
Tonight I picked up Linnaea again from ballroom practice and brought her home, and we stopped by the cemetery. She asked why, and I told her it was so I could tell you goodnight.
She thought we would see you. I so wish...
She asked where you were, so I told her that your body was there, but your spirit, the real part of you, was with Heavenly Father and Jesus in heaven.
The next question?
"Where's heaven?"
Oh baby, I wish I knew, I really do. And when I told her I didn't know, she said she didn't either. She asked when we would see you again, and I had to tell her not for a long, long, long time.
I did tell her that They love you even more than we do, and that's a whole lot! And then I silently cried because I needed to not upset her. She is so innocent and just took it all in. I envy her faith and trust.
I was looking back today at some of my older posts, trying to find some information for another mama, and was struck anew with how miraculous your life was. And how precarious. And how I truly had no clue.
So many times...
So close...
And I honestly had no idea. Or maybe it's because it wasn't your time yet.
In looking back, I found where I asked Daddy if it was strange that every Thanksgiving I wondered if we would still have you here for Christmas. That was back in 2018, and I remember every single year that thought went through my mind.
Except 2023.
Oh, the hubris...
When we went in on the night of the 9th and your viral panel came back positive for Flu A, I figured maybe five days in the hospital, well before Christmas. And then the 13th hit and I realized it wasn't going to be quite that quick, but still, it would happen.
Even on the night of the 22nd, I was pretty sure that even though we would celebrate Christmas in the hospital (again), we would be home by the 26th or 27th at the latest.
The 26th found Daddy and I at the mortuary choosing your casket, determining your resting place, buying burial clothes. The 27th I cleaned out all of your medical supplies and sent them away. And the 28th, the day I was sure you would be home by, we dressed you one last time.
Oh Aaron, the last two days were actually pretty good ones. But today, oh today...
I was doing okay, returned your stone and flowers to the cemetery and went to work. And then I saw the news reporting a possible active shooter situation at SUU, you know, where Sarah and Joseph are, and my heart stopped again. I grabbed my phone, fumbled to open it to text them, and then saw Joseph's text that they weren't on campus and were safe.
But Aaron, for those few seconds...
I now know what it is like to lose a child, to bury my baby. Just ... just no.
And then going by to tell you goodnight.
Goodnight, my son.
I love you.
Miss you.
"Ignorance is bliss. I wish I still had some."
xoxoxox
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