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|cJessicaPyne (profile) wrote, |
on 1-12-2009 at 12:03am
|Subject: Dear Isaiah Jakob,
|It's been a year and 3 minutes since I found you and lost you all in one moment. I'm going to see your grave today but it's more than that. I come by to say hello all the time and I leave you things, but selfishly keep your lamb and blanket and hats and clothes..
But today is different.
Today is more.
Today is my realization that no matter what, time is going to keep marching by but this will never hurt any less. Nothing will ever feel so right wrapped around my finger than yours. Or my arms around you.
I don't fight the tears anymore.
I'm not ashamed and I'm sorry that I ever was. I'm sorry that it took me a few days to confess to my father, but I was scared, and I'm so sorry.
I know you already knew that. You already knew everything I needed to tell you. One breath was enough, for you, little man.
I'll still always want a million more.
But that's because I'm your mama and I love you and I miss you, and damn it, 8 hours was NOT enough. These pictures, these clothes, these toys, these cards - they get me by. But they're nothing compared to being able to fall asleep with you, even if it was just one night.
I breathed you in and memorized your scent and face and could probably measure out perfectly how long your fingernails were.
Things have changed so much and this world is a mess. Sometimes I'm glad you're there, and not here, because this world sucks and isn't fit for you and your perfection.
If there were some way I could cut to the front of the line and be with you, I would.
Or maybe we'd cut ties and sneak away to string together stars and build our own world, just the two of us. We could race pirate ships to nebulas and back, drink laughter and feast on dreams, and just be happy.
Because Isaiah Jakob, talking to a cold stone and damp grass just isn't working for me.
I see Kaleb and Karis and Emilio and Eliseo run through the house on the holidays and sometimes I wonder what it would be like to see you running along behind them. Or beside them. Or in front. Or maybe you'd do your own thing. Maybe you would rather sit and watch.
I was a watcher too.
Maybe you'd be outgoing, charming the pants off of every lady in every supermarket. Or maybe you'd be shy, covering your face.
Maybe you'd have my curls and pull at them nervously.
I do know you had my lips and my eyes and my nose.
I've pictured them all scrunching up into a smile for so long.
One year and three minutes, to be exact.
Your aunt picked up your Christmas star from the funeral home and gave it to me on New Years. I wrapped it in your blanket and tucked it in your chest.
And I cried just as hard as I'm crying now.
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Wow, dear. That was incredibly beautiful and utterly tragic.