I live in a world of what will never be. In my mind, everything I ever dreamed that will now never happen, can flash as quickly as a strike of lightning at any moment. From the little coat that hangs in the laundry room, never to see a swing set again. To the sippy cups that sit in the cupboard, never again to be filled with chocolate milk. To the batman bedding that stays neatly made every day, no longer tussled from his restless nights. Small, simple, things that haunt me.
Everything in my day, is a reminder that he is gone.
Yesterday, my oldest Chase had the nurse give me a call. He just was not feeling well, she told me. “No fever, no throwing up, just not feeling good.” I was with a friend but instantly took off to get him. Even though the nurse was calm, and not worried, my heart predicted something more serious than a cold. When I picked him up, we sat in the car and I simply asked, “are you really not feeling well?” His response “I just miss Hunter. Then My belly hurt.” I know the feeling all too well. This was our first time where I had to get him at school since Hunter passed. We made a day of it, lunch, hanging out at home, talking. It felt nice. It seemed maybe we both needed it, but I didn’t really know that until I picked him up.
Sometimes I just try to stay so busy in a day to keep my mind from those little reminders of what will never be. I try not to sit too long. But sometimes, they’re unavoidable all together, which makes me believe that sometimes we just NEED to see them.
I sat folding laundry on Hunters bed. I love my time sitting on his bed. I think of every song we sang, book we read, and snuggle we enjoyed. Yesterday, I sat, and I thought deeply about how its been over a month since I last touched him or held him. Centuries in mommy world. I thought about how he’s been gone for just a moment in this lifetime, but it already feels like eternity. I was folding the clothes when out fell a little sock. A Hunter sock! Pure Gold in this house. I let out a sigh and picked it up, instantly bringing it to my nose to smell the crap out of it just in case there was a trace of his scent left on that sock. Nothing, just fabric softener. I have done many loads of laundry since he passed, where did this sock come from? It’s always a sock. I remember finding one just days after he passed, then another at our cabin under the bed. And over the last month, they seem to pop up lots of places.
Finding this sock at that moment, was like a little hello from heaven. I was so overcome with love from this little tiny sock and it didn’t make me think about everything that will never be. It made me think of everything that has been. A tangible reminder that he was here, that he was ours.
