Fly, Fly Little Wing

It's been one week since I laid my son's lifeless body on the hospital table, in room 3 at Blanchfield Army Community Hospital. I walked out of that room after holding my child for over four hours, knowing I'd never get to hold him again. I had held him long enough after he past away to feel his fevered body turn cold against my skin. His precious lips faded from pink to white and his body that always jerked with seizures was stilled. That's how I knew, after four hours, that he was no longer there. I'd have giving anything to have stayed in that room with his beautiful body forever, but my baby boy had earned his wings and was now free from his pain, soaring high in Heaven and I had to let him go. 

I thought I was handling it well this past week. I cried when I found his hat and when I heard certain songs. I cried when I found his NG tube he'd pulled out months before in the truck. And I cried when I looked at his pictures. I assumed that was all to be expected. As was, the lack of sleep and appetite. But, I could talk about him. I still had the will to do things that needed to get done. I made it through his funeral. I survived visits from family. I was doing better then I ever imagined I would do. I was handling it well. 

I don't know what changed or what set if off, but ever since Friday afternoon, I'm not handling it so well, anymore. Every time I close my eyes, I see his body laying in that hospital bed as I walked away, so sleep is getting even harder. Every time someone tells me I'll hold him again someday, I find myself counting the years, months until I'm of "old age." And then I hate myself for having kids so young. People keep telling us to hold on to our good memories, but our son's life was never good. He spent months in ICUs with tubes and wires. He never got to walk or talk or even taste food. Doctors say he was never able to see and they questioned his ability to hear. Normal for our son, was what most people would call Hell.

Our baby didn't just die. Our baby never got to live.

As hard as it is, I am happy knowing he's no longer in pain, but it's hard to find peace in that, because I don't understand why he had to have such poor quality of life in the first place.

And I miss him.

I pray that someday the images of his cold lifeless body are replaced with images of a smiling, dark haired angel. Instead of seeing him laying there on that hospital bed, with no breath and no heart beat, I hope to see my baby flying, flying high.