Here’s our first Sunday, my dear boy. Our first real Sunday.
I have said it before, yet I say it again. There is no word for this pain. This utter, piercing pain. It hurts every cell of my body and every ounce of my being.
At times, I lie in bed unable to cry because the convulsions from my tears hurt too much. There’s a lull in my heart as I walk, as if something is missing, yet something is stuck.
But then there are times of utter joy. As I look at your pictures, as I remember all the joy you’ve brought to our lives. Your smile, how it brightened the world. Stories of people who never met you, who love you.
As I miss you, my dreams come and dance in front of my eyes. My dreams of you, my dreams of your brothers, my dreams of the world. I live for my dreams — not only of my wishes for you, but also of my wishes for your brothers.
I dream of a world of people who can put down their hate and cherish the love.
I dream of peace in all of our hearts, true peace and acceptance — that each breath is cherished.
I dream of always cherishing the scent of fresh grass.
I dream of feeling your warmth as the sun soaks into my skin.
I dream of you running and jumping and saying, "Mum, look at me!" and the openness of my mind and patience to always look, even for the 100th time.
I dream of those hours spent worrying about bills, paying for treatment, instead of cuddling and cherishing. Always cuddle over worrying.
I dream of holding you by the shoreline while the waves crashed into the Earth and the mist hit our faces.
I dream of you as we watched the skies open and water fall to the ground, cleansing it and renewing it as the sky lit up and the Earth shook with thunder.
I dream of your giggle as it pierced through the room, even as others turned their nose at its difference, and remember the joy it brought to my ears.