Sometimes, in the very early hours of the morning when everyone is still asleep, I think I hear our bedroom door creak open slightly, followed by soft footsteps on the floor. I wonder if you are coming to crawl into bed with your daddy and me, as you would if you were still here.
Sometimes, as I kiss your little sister at the start of each new day, I wonder if you remember the times that I whispered, “I’m going to kiss you a lot now, in case there’s ever a time I can’t,” and then covered your face with butterfly kisses as you laughed. I hope that you can still feel my love.
Sometimes, when I miss you so much that I don’t want to leave the comfort of our home, I look out the window to see a dragonfly looking back at me. I wonder if you sent it to lift my spirits and to give me the strength I need to move forward.
Sometimes, when I take your sister to the park or to visit friends, I watch the little boys your age as they run and play. In my mind’s eye, I always picture the boy you should be running with them. I wonder if you’re trying to show me what you look like where you are now.
Sometimes, when I bend down to your sister and she throws her arms around my neck, I feel the tears start to fall. I wonder if you know that my tears are full of regret for the small pleasures you never had the chance to experience, while, at the same time, full of joy for every moment I had with you and for every tiny movement she makes.
Sometimes, when I hear your favorite song, the one that we played at night as I rocked you to sleep, certain lyrics catch my attention – “Someday I’ll wish upon a star and wake up where the clouds are far behind me.” I wonder if it’s a sign from you, telling me that you are safe and happy on the other side of the rainbow.
Sometimes, as your sister eats her dinner, she looks up at the ceiling, smiling, waving and saying, “Hi.” I wonder if she can see you. Trusting her, I always smile and wave – and wish that I could see you too.
Sometimes, when the house is once again quiet, your sister’s motion-activated doll starts talking in the playroom. It says, “Hi, Mommy. Can you see me?” I wonder if you’re asking me if I can sense your presence, because, oftentimes, I think I can.
Sometimes, as I lay quietly in bed at the end of another day, I wonder why SMA had to come into our lives and steal you from us. I try to console myself with the thought that, if just for a little while, I held an angel in my arms. And, I hope you know that, no matter how near or far you are, you always will be the heart of our family.
Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I try to remember every detail of you – the curl in your hair, the velvet skin of your cheeks, the smell of your hands, the warm weight of your body against mine. I wonder if you know what I would give to hold you once more.
Sometimes, as I replay the choices your daddy and I made for you in this life, I wonder if we truly did as you wanted. Then a wave of peace washes over me, and I know that, while I might never fully understand, your journey was how it was meant to be. And so I fall asleep.