I woke this morning and the day felt different.
A bit melancholy, bittersweet, and even a little contemplative.
I didn't know why, and then I looked at the calendar.
Sixteen years ago today we got to bring you home.
Home.
Where I didn't know if you would ever be, and yet you were.
And for almost 13 1/2 years, I brought you home again and again and again. The last time was on November 23rd, just in time for your last Thanksgiving.
Now I have those memories of you, memories you were sent home to make.
You weren't supposed to live.
At two weeks old, you were sent home to die. I knew that. But the goal was to make some of those memories here before it was too late so as soon as you were "sorta" stable, you came home to be with us.
And you were.
Miraculously, wonderfully, and perfectly in your imperfections you did.
Today as I left, I saw a small dove's feather on Deborah's car and smiled.
Your fingerprints are still here, still at the new hospital, still on our hearts.
And they will be until we are Home with you.
Love you, kiddo.
Love,
Mama
“The connections we make in the course of a life--maybe that's what heaven is.”
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