Thursday, November 14, 2013

Stuck on repeat.

My mind feels as if it's stuck on repeat these days. Replaying various moments of time at the most random of times. Tiny things will remind me of him, which will spark a memory. I'm incredibly grateful to have so many memories with my boy. 

Eleven years of them!

I will always, always, always wish we had more time together. But so much happened in his eleven years of life. I've smiled and even laughed at many of the photos that I have looked back on. I've also cried seeing those of special events, his smile or the pictures that I caught of him laughing.

I do miss him as much as I love him. And I couldn't love him more.

I have so many pictures from birthdays, holidays and vacations. If you could see the amount of pictures I have you would realize that I clearly have a picture hoarding problem! But I've looked through them all. 

My mind has replayed the moment Wyatt died over and over the last 7 weeks. I don't need pictures to remember that day. I remember the expressions on our friends' faces. The way he looked and felt. The intense feeling of utter heartbreak as his body was lovingly picked up for the first time by someone other than Bryan or myself. Then carried from our home for the last time.

When he died everything felt to me as if it was happening in slow motion. I remember speaking out loud as Bryan was walking to the pulse-ox to lower the limits again. But I couldn't get out the words I wanted to say. Our friend had just covered him up with his fleece blanket before he took his last breaths. It was a Philadelphia Phillies blanket. I was thinking maybe he just needed to be kept warmer for the pulse-ox to pick up a stronger signal again. It happened all the time within the last year, his perfusion was terrible.

But I was wrong. 

I looked to his doctor who took steps toward us, holding his stethoscope in one hand, he laid his phone on the arm of the couch with the other as he bent down. I looked back to Bryan, who was standing next to our friend. I remember the expressions on their faces, the feeling in their eyes. I looked across the room to the dining room table as I heard Jilly squeal, she was still playing and didn't realize what had happened yet. Maggie walked cautiously, stunned and crying, over to us. I then pulled my little girl into the bed with Wyatt and I after our friend told her. Maggie and Bryan stood next to Wyatt on the other side of the bed.

"He was the best brother ever.", "I didn't want him to die.", "I hate Mito." were some of the phrases Jilly cried and repeated as she laid next to her Brother.

It's all ingrained into my brain. 

I know I haven't shared much about what happened on that day, but Wyatt's death was very peaceful. It felt as if it happened quickly, especially when you think about the length of time leading up to that day. I sat in the bed with him the entire day, holding his hand. I believe he waited to go until just the right moment. It was clear he held on until everyone he wanted was here, together in our home with him and us. People that cared for him deeply and loved him. And who he loved in return.

It feels like it happened just yesterday and yet it also feels like it has been so much longer than 7 weeks since I last held his hand, or gave him a kiss, or a hug, or told him I loved him. Occasionally it still feels somewhat surreal and other days the emotions are raw and can be suffocating.
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