Mom here. Have I told you lately how much I miss you? I really do. But I guess I've said that a few thousand times before.
Tomorrow is your birthday. 16 years ago at this time I was pretty much awestruck by how much labor pains really hurt! I mean, I've had doctors tell me I have a high pain tolerance, but getting you out blew that all to hell. Don't get me wrong, you were worth it and all, but that is some serious ouching! Still one of the best and happiest days of my life though. Will, you made me a mom. You came as a surprise, and you changed my life, and became my whole life. I wonder if you can remember it now, since you are in the be all and know all place. At least I like to believe that. I wish I really really knew what to believe. If you have a way to help me out with this it would be greatly appreciated. I wish I could see things face to face and give up all this through a glass, darkly, stuff.
It's weird, you know, you were my baby boy but not quite still a baby and already my best friend, so you'll always be a baby, yet often when I think of you I think of the teenage Will you would have been. The eleven and a half months I had with you were the happiest and calmest and most at peace I have ever been. I'm still happy a lot, although it did take a while to get there, and I'm even calm sometimes! But there is a piece of my inner peace that is gone. That is not your fault though! Ironic since you were such an easy, peaceful kid and gave it to me.
And I hurt. There's no denying that. Mostly for me, but also for you and for Seva, my boy who has always wanted a brother.
Here's a funny story. Once when Seva was about 3 or 4, getting into the the truck leaving a friend's house he found a picture of you in the console. It was one he hadn't seen before. He asked who it was and I told him it was you. He said, "Can we go visit Will?" I had to say, "No, Will is in Heaven, we can't go there." As we drove away he continued the conversation.
"Mom, where's heaven is? Up in the 'ky?"
"I don't know, maybe up past the sky, maybe somewhere else, maybe just a state of being."
"Mom, what will we do there? Will it be fun?"
"I don't know Buddy. What is this? Hard question weekend?"
"Mom, when you put me in heaven, will you get a new baby?" At this point I almost drove off the road! And I think I was hyperventilating.
"Oh Seva, I didn't put Will in heaven. If he can't be with us I'm glad he's there, but you are not going there for a very long time. I will go there before you."
"Mom, where's Will's daddy?" Dang, just when I thought the questions couldn't get any harder. I was thinking, "How am I going to explain all this?" Then suddenly it came to me. Tell the truth.
"Will's daddy is in Arizona." End of questions. I think we went for ice cream.
Okay, maybe not funny haha, but cute don't you think? You guys would be such good buds.When he was little he used to tell me to go get you, that he would be a good brother and let you play with all his toys. He didn't realize that many of them were once yours! Just today Seva and I were in the car again, talking about your birthday. He said, "It would be cool if he were here. We could be like twins." You know you are only 10 weeks older than he is. And then we discussed whose hair would probably be blonder and if you would be taller than he is. You're still a part of our family here. I've heard it said you can't miss what you don't know, but I think that's wrong. I think Seva misses you too.
Happy birthday precious. I used to be afraid you would think that was your name I called you that so much. That would be worse than a boy named Sue, wouldn't it? I love you so much, and that never dies. Thanks for being with me, even for a little while. And thanks for teaching me to be a mom, or "Ah-na" as you called me. Do you remember we listened to country music and danced around the house? I sure do. To quote a Garth Brooks song. "I could have missed the pain, but I'd have had to miss the dance."
It was a great dance.
FYI- Bacterial meningitis can kill a healthy toddler in less than 3 days.
*Nobody wants to be someone who has lost a child, but I especially hate being "that woman whose baby died." I don't want to never talk about Will either though. It's a dilemma.