Posted by Mommy on Aug 25, 2011 at 7:11 pm

Weeble, it has been six months since our last full day with you. The last dinner I cooked for you. The pudding cup I let you have for dessert even though you didn’t finish your dinner. The last time I kissed you goodnight. I miss you more than I could ever try to express. ♥

Posted by Daddy on Aug 22, 2011 at 11:00 pm

If I could die 1,000 times in the most horrific ways known, and by doing so I could bring you back to your mother and siblings, I would begin right now, and try my hardest to be done by daybreak.  It would be a great disservice to you, I know, but I’d hope you’d forgive me.

There is one on the way that you will never know on this side of the first death.  He or she will never know you in this realm either.  You can add Sprocket to the long list of in utero monikers of which we’re so fond.  Sprout, Tater, Bumby, Tippy, Weeble,  Bug, and Sprocket.  I wonder how long you’d let yours stick?  I wonder what your name is now.

I miss you and I’m sorry.  I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you were scared.  I’m sorry for your mother and siblings.  I’m sorry for your grandparents , aunts, uncles, and cousins.  I’m sorry for me.  I have never been haunted by so many memories at once before.  You seem to be just moments away at times.  I see a piece of kinder-art flap in the fan-breeze and I think it’s you getting up from your bed.  I turn the corner at the front of the house and I hear your voice.  I hate missing you.

It might be very hard for a man to lay down his life for his child’s.  I’ll wager that it’s at least 1,000 times harder to live having been denied the chance to make that decision.

Posted by Daddy on Aug 10, 2011 at 8:33 pm

Last night I had a dream.  I wondered how long it would take to dream of Weeble, but today, upon further reflection, I realized that I have dreamt very little (if at all) of any of my children.  One might expect that Weeb, the short life and tragic death of whom having been so predominately at the forefront my mind every day for over five months, would be in my dreams much more often.

I am reticent to give any credence to mysticism in any form.  Never-the-less, I do not want to disbelieve that Weeble visited me either.  He lives, I live, and we share a human spirit as well as the love and familiarity that can only be shared by a father and his son. There is no reason to disbelieve that it is possible.  The real question is whether or not God would permit such an encounter.  The witch of Endor comes to mind.

In this dream Weeble was mostly as he was on the day before he died: 2.75 years old, blond,vivacious.  I knew, though, that he had died.  He was changed, though, in some ways.  He could do some things that no two-year-old can do: things like landing on his feet when flipped in the air by the arms, a feat that Jennifer, the children, and I witnessed.  He seemed not to want to show this ability off, so I stopped tossing him any harder than I would a “normal boy.”

I played with Weeb for a while, but while playing I knew that he would have to go soon.  I wondered as I sat him on the couch if he would just disappear from there.  I left him sitting there and rounded the corner.  Once out of his sight, I called him by name and he came running to me.  I asked him if he would come back to me whenever I called him, and the unspoken answer seemed to be, “No.”  I do not know if the answer came from him or from something/someone/somewhere else.
I do not know how he left after that point.  Suddenly traveling at a great rate downhill from the meeting place, I asked no one in particular why I am supposed to believe that God loves me.  The answer, again from an unknown source and delivered through an unknown medium, came to me: “You know God loves you because he told you that He loves you.”