Today I was reading about a little girl named Kayleigh. She's been in the NICU for 10 months and she's partially brain dead. She will never learn how to talk, walk, or comprehend the things around her. While reading her story tears flooded my eyes like never before. I kept thinking I know what her parents are going through. I've been there and I've done that. But really, I haven't been there. She's alive. The part of her brain that is working is what's keeping her heart beating. They're pain is much greater than mine. They are able to touch their daughter and I am not. You are gone mentally and physically. There is nothing that I can to make you feel better. Her parents are so close to having her completely. They don't know how much time they have with her and hope to take her home. God has blessed them with this time and their thankful for it. They've had her for 10 months and are thankful for that time. Since you've died, I been questioning my faith wondering where I fit in. I've been asking God, Why? I've been very selfish wishing for more time with you. I've been angry and unappreciative of what time I did have. I had 3 weeks with you, but 3 weeks, in my mind is NOT enough. I want more and sometimes I demand more time. But Kayleigh's parents are thankful and I keep thinking should I be thankful? Should I stop with all the bitterness? Should I stop hiding from the light that wants to shine in my life? I went to lunch today re-living your final day in the NICU, crying for you and crying because I was so touched by Kayleigh's story and how strong her parents faith in God is.
You would think that after 15 months I would have my act together (but I don't). I still miss you just as much as I did the night you died. I don't cry everyday anymore, but when I do cry it seems never ending. All the events that took place from the time of your birth to the time of your death are still fresh in my mind. I try to keep them hidden, but they're still there. I can still close my eyes and replay everything like a movie. I still regret not telling you goodbye before they put you in an induced sleep. I regret not looking into those dark brown eyes just one more time. I regret not fighting harder for you. I was foolish to listen to the doctors. There were many times I should have fought for you, but I believed the doctors could make you better.
There is a peice of my heart missing. It left when you left. You will be my son forever and always. I will always miss you. I will never forget you. You have my love and I hope you can feel it in heaven.