1000 Days of Love, Part 2

Dear Aaron,

Twelve years ago we celebrated 1000 days of your life. You've now been gone 444, almost half of that. I remember that day. I finally was believing you would live, could live.

I'm still not sure how to understand that you're gone. 

On your 444th day of life, I felt joyful, I felt blessed, almost ecstatic. 

On your 444th day of your new life now, the life in heaven where I am not, I still feel blessed, blessed to having had you here, but not joyful. Not really.

We had family over tonight to celebrate David's and Sarah's and Jonny's birthdays. Barrett is now walking pretty steady, Elend and Linnaea love playing with Legos, and Sterling does an amazing army crawl. Do you watch them, sit with us? Are you here? I think I've felt you a few times recently.

This week is Ballroom Nationals.  You went a few times. You loved the music, the atmosphere. You had some pretty amazing dance moves. You definitely felt the beat. 

This year I'll head down on Thursday and Friday. I really hope the high school team makes Division II. If they do, I'll get to see them, and Jonny put a part in honoring you. There's a heartbeat during part of the standard medley that fades away... He told the kids a couple weeks ago the significance of that. If they are in Division III, I'll see it at concert, but I'd really like to experience it at Nationals. I guess we'll just have to see...

(Make sure the sound is on)

It's getting light earlier and staying light later. We changed times today, Aaron. That was always kinda rough on you, figuring out ways to adjust your meds, especially your seizure meds, to new times. But that's not a problem anymore. You don't need meds. You don't need a vent, a wheelchair, a computer to talk with. You're perfect now. I just wish I could still hold you.

As I drove to church today, I realized another place you made a difference. There were ramps to get into the building with a wheelchair, but it was nearly impossible to open the door while also pushing the wheelchair. Most of the time I had someone with us, but I knew that I couldn't always count on that, and you aren't the only person who needed to use that door. So after talking with leadership several years back, they got a handicap button installed so anyone could open it. 

You are a game changer, a rule breaker, a legend in the making. Your handprints are everywhere in this world.

You are my hero.

Love,
Mama

"Heroes get remembered, but legends never die."

Babe Ruth