46 weeks
Sometimes I pretend that you're just on a mission. And then I catch a glimpse of your photo on the wall, or the cast of your hand intertwined with McKayslin's. And I remember. My breath catches in my throat. My heart catches in my chest.
I have to remind myself to breathe.
It's been one year since we learned that there were abnormal cells showing in your bone marrow. You weren't even at the 100 days past transplant. The BMT team was very concerned. We were very concerned. One year ago President Acevedo stopped to give McKayslin and I each a blessing (you and Daddy were in Salt Lake, we'd been e-mailing all day and then Skyping all evening).
That blessing has been a source of strength and peace for over a year now. President blessed me that I would have an understanding of and an appreciation for the Atonement and the Resurrection.
That night was the first night that I actually couldn't pray. I didn't know what to say. I just knew that I was terrified of what the future held. I sat on the stairs in tears. I knew I needed to pray. But I couldn't. And then I uttered the only words that I could, "Please, Heavenly Father, I need peace."
Instantly, powerfully, I felt a wave of peace make its way through my fear, my sadness, my hurt. The tears ceased. And I knew that regardless, everything would be okay.
Over the past year, I have prayed that same prayer countless times, always with the same result. There is peace.
Lately we've had a few friends stop by for various reasons, but they are the friends that are willing to talk about you. They know you. They love you. And we love them for that. It's so healing to be able to share your stories. To be able to hear your stories. Don't get me wrong, we'd so much rather have you here. We miss you every single minute of every single day.
Last night we had pancakes, bacon, and eggs for dinner. And I remembered one day a few years ago...
It was a Saturday morning. You wanted pancakes (you always wanted pancakes). McKayslin wanted waffles (she always wanted waffles). We usually had waffles. But that morning I realized (duh!!) IT'S THE SAME BATTER! So I made both. Waffles for our Goose and pancakes for our Bubs. You were so happy that morning. And so appreciative of that simple act of kindness. These memories remind me to always be appreciative of the little things.
We were talking about that morning as I cooked dinner. And then I started laughing because I remembered that was also the morning that we played "stupid human tricks" in the kitchen. I cooked up a bunch of little tiny pancakes. You stood next to Sparky on one side of the kitchen. I stood on the other side of the kitchen and flipped the pancakes off the spatula toward you and Sparky. You caught some, Sparky caught others. We all laughed so hard that morning. That was an awesome memory. It caught me off guard and made me smile through my tears.
You have such a gift of living life to the very fullest. I miss that. It's a good lesson for me to remember these moments because it helps me remember that life is to be lived, not just endured.
Oh how I miss you, my handsome warrior. You've been gone nearly a year. Each week seems a little more challenging than the one before. We're so grateful for friends that remember. They remember us with stories, with memories, with cards, texts, and service. But above all, we are so grateful for you. And for our knowledge of eternal families.
Christmas won't be the same without you. Because nothing is the same without you. Some days feel a little softer than others. For that I am grateful. I don't think this will ever get easier. I don't think it's supposed to. But I do think it's supposed to get softer.
As we go into this Christmas season, I am reminded, yet again, of the power of the Atonement. And, I am learning to have an understanding of and an appreciation for that divine gift.
Carry forth, brave son - you're doing amazing things. I've had several incredible stories of your influence shared with me. I am so proud of you!
Love you. Miss you.
Neither of those things will ever change.
All my love,
Mom
