Monday, January 13, 2014

Hearing his voice again.

The other night I must have been in that strange point, between awake and sleeping...have you ever experienced that? It was the wee hours of the morning and I heard Wyatt's voice calling out "Moooommmmyy..." clear as could be. It sounded so crisp and so, so real.

His voice was so vivid that I woke up and was about to climb out of bed to go to him. I found myself feeling relief that he was there...that it must have all been a bad dream. I then stopped myself from moving, just as I started to realize that he was not actually here and the last 3.5 months was not what I was dreaming of.


His voice sounded so familiar, so close, so right. For a second or two, I found myself feeling as if it was possible that I had only dreamed he had died.

I miss my boy so much it hurts.

I listened for awhile...hoping to hear his voice again through the bedroom walls. But I didn't. I laid awake the next several hours wishing I was right, that it could have been a bad dream. I wish so badly it was all just a bad dream. I wish I could see him upright, healthy, happy and smiling. Walking through the door with a book bag hanging over his shoulders just after coming off the bus with the girls, asking to play another sport or join a club, doing homework or asking to play with his friends.

Who would be his best friend? Would he tell me about his day or give me the same one word responses that his older sister gives me most days? If he wasn't sick, what would he do for fun? 

But that life wasn't meant to be for him or us, apparently.

Instead, his pillow with the Pittsburgh Steelers pillow case is laying on top of the small, blue tinted Rubbermaid bin of folded sheets that was stored under his bed. We bought him that Steelers sheet set when we went shopping for Jilly's birthday present. The small bin of sheets with his pillow laying on the top is sitting on our dryer, next to our washing machine. The pillow case hasn't been washed. I can't wash it, it smells of my son. The smells of his shampoo and what we referred to as his "manly" body lotion still linger on the enlarged football logo. I ran my fingers through his hair and kissed his cheek and forehead so many times as his head laid on that pillow. That little stack of bedding is certainly in the way sitting on top of the dryer, but I don't care. I can imagine him laying beside me when I see and smell that pillow, my body remembers the feel of my fingers combing through his hair and my lips kissing his forehead. My tears rush to the surface with force, but breathing in his scent is all I have left.
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  1. This made me weep. I have no words to share but I'm so glad you are sharing this experience even through the pain.

  2. Thanks for sharing, Ashley. It must be so hard.