I'm not through it.
It hasn't gotten any better.
It hasn't gotten any easier.
I'm not used to it.
You think you can "get used to anything."
After all, the hospital became our "new normal."
But this? Not used to it.
There is always always always something missing.
I've gotten better at working around it.
I carefully skirt the conversations.
I've practiced smiling.
I open my mouth and the words come out, the words I've so carefully put together.
It's not an act, exactly. I'm not pretending or faking in a conscious way.
I'm just....working around it.
But it's always always always there.
The missing piece, the missing link, the missing....
Would he be taller? Would his teeth need braces? What size shoes would I be buying for him right now? How many chapters would he negotiate to read each night? How late would he want to stay up? Would he be very excited about the new Star Wars movie? Would he be trying out for the school play?
730 days later and we're just left here to wonder. We're still here. And he's not.
I can still feel his body in my arms. If I close my eyes and breathe very carefully, I remember what it was like to kiss his head. I can hear his voice, his laugh....
Oh, Sammy. We miss you so much.
|Three is not the same as four.|
|Three plus a turtle (on Solly's shirt)|
|Last night, fireworks lit up the sky in Sammy's honor, thanks to Rabbi Steve, who made a promise to Sam. It was pouring rain....the whole world was crying with us.|
|On the 8th night of Chanukah, we also lit this Yahrzeit candle.|