Posted by Mommy on May 26, 2011 at 6:26 pm

Weeble, It’s been three months now since we last saw you, kissed you, laughed with you, played with you, thought you would always be with us. Missing you hurts more than anything I ever dared to imagine. I still go down the hall and almost hope to find you asleep in your bed. Then I just lay down on your bed and cry. I know Jesus has a plan for all of us, but I don’t know what it is. I just love you and miss you and trust that we are still connected through Christ.

Posted by Mommy on May 19, 2011 at 11:22 pm

My Weeble,

I missed you so much today. It was a day you would have enjoyed. I kept picturing you everywhere. On the bouncy house, in the fort, on the porch, eating cake, running around with your siblings, cousins and friends. Coming up to me and laying your head on my knee. There is such a big hole where you aren’t. Today would have been our first day with our three-year-old boy. Instead, it is our first day without our three-year-old boy. Our last day with our two-year-old boy wasn’t when we thought it would be, and we didn’t know it was the last day at the time. We would have taken your three-year-old pictures today. I found the shirt I bought for your pictures the other day. It still has the tags on it. You would have had your first haircut tomorrow. Instead, your only haircut was the lock the nurse cut for us at the hospital. I can’t believe how much I miss you. I can’t believe that a pain like this even exists. I can’t believe my baby has gone to heaven without me. I should have been there waiting for you, not you waiting for me. I hope you saw your balloons, and that you know how important you will always be to us. I hope you can remember the birthdays that we celebrated with you, and how much we love you, and how happy we are to have had you in our lives. I hope you enjoyed your first birthday in heaven. I love you, my sweet boy.

Love, Mommy

Posted by Daddy on at 1:05 am

Dear Weeble,

I sit here in my chair alone on your third birthday. The household is asleep.

This day should have been so completely joyful, and now I don’t know how I am going to get through it without you. The words of King Solomon are echoing through my mind, and I wonder just what he really felt when he wrote them:

Read the rest of the letter

Posted by Aunt Tricia on May 10, 2011 at 12:20 am

I was with you this morning. You were wearing your little yellow chickie boots and gray shorts. Your blond hair was tangled and curled…all over the place as usual. You looked beautiful. You were smiling and running and talking a mile a minute…telling me about the animals-the puppies and horses. For a moment I worried that they would nip at you, but then you were off and running again. Your blue eyes were twinkling with all of the fun we were having. But I knew. I knew there was some reason it couldn’t last. There was, in my mind, only a week left. So we played and we ran and you showed me everything. Where were we? Then I saw your daddy. I told him I was glad I hadn’t known that it would end, because there never would have been enough time. He sat down in the recliner and cried- as I have seen him do so many times in the past 10 weeks. He looked so old as he asked me, “How is it so easy for me to imagine you and for you to imagine me?” I didn’t understand what he meant; I still don’t. Then I woke up and you were gone-again. And I wondered: had your daddy been dreaming of you too, and will you come back to see me again?

Posted by Daddy on May 7, 2011 at 11:06 am

The whole family is sick with some sort of barfing, diarrhea-ing nastiness; All except Weeble that is. Is it odd that I feel a little sadness not being able to share even a sickness with him? If he were here, I’d feel sad if he WERE sick, but I’d prefer it to his absence.

Posted by Daddy on May 2, 2011 at 11:53 pm

Hole
Troy Eckhardt

I whisper his name
but it’s not a prayer.
It’s and ache and a hope.

I study his image
but it’s not worship.
It’s a longing and a joy.

I stoop to touch one
once beside me
and feel,
yawning where he stood,
THE BLACK HOLE
as bottomless as time.

Holes are meant to be filled.

But not now, not yet.

I honor his absence.
I cherish the vacuum.
It’s a grief and a comfort.

Besides,

Nothing but him will fit in it.