I’m happy. I don’t think I’ve been this happy since the day you were born – when I thought you were well. I still had moments of joy after you were diagnosed and even after you died. But there has been a cloud over my head for some time and it has been a lot of work to find the sun.
Having Jayce here, watching him grow so quickly and thrive, it lights me up. I am so relieved.
I asked your dad if he felt guilty at all for being happy. Of course he said no because he’s rational like that. I protested because, I reminded him, you are worthy of our sadness. You are still gone, and that should always make us sad.
“But that’s false logic,” he told me. “Brody doesn’t need us to be sad for him. That doesn’t do anything for him. He wants us to be happy.”
And I think he’s right. Right? Is it okay for us to be happy again? We miss you – we miss you a lot – but we don’t want that to define the rest of our lives.
I don’t want to go through everyday seeing you as the missing piece because you have actually given me many gifts. Having you and losing you taught me lessons no one and nothing else could have. You will always be a sacred part of my story and my heart and I won’t ever let go of you. I don’t have it all figured out, but I think it honours you most to remember you with joy and gratitude.
Still, when I think of the fact that you should be three this December, it’s quite tempting to drown in grief. And that might never change. But I want to tell myself in those moments that you’re still mine and I will see you again. And until then, I’m going to thank God that I got to hold you for as long as I did.
The skies are much clearer now and the sun is warmer than it has been in a while, and I don’t want to close my eyes and remember all the darkness.
Let’s be happy together, baby boy. Okay? You and your brothers are all worthy of my joy.