I’ve been feeling much better since I wrote to you. I needed to share my heart with you. It struck me that even though you died more than a year ago, I still worry about you. I still wonder how you’re doing and think about your feelings and what you need. I still desperately want to mother you.
I always wanted to be the mom who enjoyed my kids and didn’t worry all the time. Circumstances have certainly challenged that goal. But I still want that. Perhaps I need to stop worrying about you now. I need to give myself permission to stop worrying about whether it’s our fault you died. I need to stop worrying that I did something terribly wrong and everyone knows and is just too kind or scared to tell me to my face. I need to stop worrying that I don’t love you enough when I acknowledge how much easier it’s going to be to raise a child who doesn’t have the terrible disease you had.
I miss you and it hurts to think of what you would be like now. I need to stop torturing myself with those questions. Of course you would still be our beautiful boy and you’d be challenging at times and delightful at other times like every other two year old. But you’re not here and you’re not two and I should stop imagining what never was or ever will be.
I need to stop worrying about you and just allow myself to enjoy you. I still love you and you still love me. I have many beautiful memories of the precious time we had together. We could have so easily lost you when you were just days old. What a gift to have nearly 17 months of memories.
Now we can make new memories with your baby brother. It’s okay. It’s good and right and I don’t need to worry. It’s not perfect; nothing ever is and that’s okay. It’s all an incredible gift despite the suffering and I want to enjoy it.