Posted by Daddy on Feb 26, 2015 at 12:51 pm

Weeble,

You’ve been gone for four years today/tomorrow. I don’t know exactly when you left, but I know what you left, and I know where you went. Today I’d like to leave this place and join you, but that’s a selfish thought. I’m depressed. The small, accumulated failures of life that wax and wane have all ganged up on me today in a compounded tidal wave. Money’s tight, time’s short, the workload seems insurmountable, you’re gone. It all feels like the same stabbing pain and too much to bare some days, and today is one of them.

We watched almost all of the videos we have of you this morning. I still hear them playing in the living room as I hide in my office typing to you and gearing up to get back to tax returns. There is one video that I have never watched – the video of your funeral. Maybe I’ll watch it alone today. Maybe I won’t.

I miss you, and I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you, but when I see you again, I’ll probably drop the grudge I hold against myself for that failure.

Ich liebe dich mehr als ich ausdrücken kann, und vermisse dich schrecklich. Ich bin des Todes so schwer überdrüssig. Gott helfe mir, ich verzweifle so viel ab und zu.  Komm Herr Jesu.

Mit der ganzen Liebe meines Herzens bin ich dein,

Vati

Posted by Daddy on Dec 12, 2014 at 3:44 pm

Weeble,

I sit here at my desk, having just finished payroll taxes for the month, blowing tears and mucus all over the keyboard, while thinking about Tiggy, He’s a boy I have never met, although you may have. Who here on this side knows the ties binding souls in Heaven? Maybe you two are acquainted because those you left behind have found each other. I’m tethered to several who are, like me, still bound to the old flesh, united in the shared sorrow of the death of a child. The club is monstrous, but the members are precious to me.

Today it’s been four years since Tiggy went home. I know the anguish of his family; I feel it. It throbs into my being and resonates harmonically with the black spot left by your death, intensifying the dull ache into the stabs of terror I felt on the day of your accident. It will never be over, and it’s only the limitations of the human ability to process information that allows any reprieve. Most of the time the memory is pushed aside by more pressing present needs. But often, it surfaces. Sometimes I’m pleased to remember a friendly boy who waves at me while tapping his feet to a Buddy Holly tune, but sometimes I dwell on a different memory: that monster of grief and torture that lives just under the surface. I’m never without hope, but at times I lose sight of it for a while.

Each day we pray that God would say “hi” to you. Today I’m praying that He says “hi” to another boy as well.

I love you,
Daddy

Posted by Mommy on Feb 26, 2013 at 9:24 pm

Oh, Muffin. “What if” is a bottomless pit that goes nowhere. As Daddy says, all that matters is what IS. I loved watching your smile and hearing your voice and your laugh in your videos today. My arms and my heart ache for you. ♥

Posted by Daddy on Sep 25, 2012 at 9:16 pm

Weeble, today is your cousin’s 18th birthday. He re-posted a picture he took of you shortly before you died, and he commented that your are a great kid. You really are, too. You were so full of adventure when you were with us, as I’m sure you still are today. Your older brothers and I sometimes talk together and picture you rolling down some heavenly mountain on your scooter, free from risk and harm.

I talked to the monument man today. At long last your headstone will be ready next week. I am anxious to see it, and I am also dreading the day. We asked to be present for it’s arrival at your grave.

How I wish the last thing I can buy for you was anything else.

We thank God every day for your life, and we ask Him to greet you for us. I am so grateful that through His blood, we can all be together again someday.

Your baby brother Simon reminds me of you. I’m sorry that he will never have met you in this plane. The rest of us have memories, and I’m worried that he might feel like an outsider someday. He may never know the weight of grief that we know, but still its effects on the rest of us will also take a toll on him.

I love you, son. I miss you and I can’t wait to see you again.

Posted by Mommy on May 20, 2012 at 6:08 pm

We had a little party for what should have been your fourth birthday yesterday. It was so sad, of course, without you there, but we wanted to celebrate that four years ago, we held you in our arms for the first time. Kissed you for the first time. Saw your blue eyes for the first time. And although we didn’t know it would be so short, began to enjoy our days with you here in this life.

We were so blessed to have you in our lives. The memories we have with you are not nearly enough, but they are precious. We love you very much and miss you with a mighty ache that wracks us to the core of our being. We watched some of your videos today, and laughed instead of crying. You always made me smile, and you still do, even through the grief. Happy birthday, sweet Weeble.

Posted by Daddy on May 18, 2012 at 9:04 pm

My sweet young son Weeble,

Tomorrow is your fourth birthday. As I prepare to celebrate that with the family, I realize how much I miss you.

Heike has made a lot of decorations and party favors, and we have ordered a bouncy house. Many of your friends will be here to help us celebrate. I wish you could be here for the party.

Katie has been taking infant swimming lessons. How I wish that we had given you the same opportunity to survive your accident. She is doing well and is learning to float on her back and swim for short distances.

Your baby brother Simon, whom you never got to meet, is growing big and plump. He smiles a lot and has started to laugh out loud at Mommy and your brothers and sisters and me.

You have been gone for over one year now. During the days right after you died, I told many people that we would be going on, not without you, but toward you.  After all of this time, I believe that even more strongly now than I did then.  I live everyday in the anticipation of being with you again in the presence of our Father.

I know that you are having fun there at home while we must stay here for a while in the Far Country. When we meet again you can introduce me to family members I have never known, and I will do the same for you. I can’t wait to see you and I love you.

Love, Daddy

Posted by Daddy on Mar 10, 2012 at 9:26 am

Actually, I wish I were there.  I’m camping and working again in a place that reminds me of you, my little Weeble man.  I sure do miss you.  We’ll camp together one day!

Posted by Mommy on Mar 6, 2012 at 6:07 pm

I heard the echo of your voice in Katie’s chatter this morning. And it broke my heart. How I ache for when your chatter was part of our every day. I love your sweet voice and laughter.

Posted by Daddy on Feb 26, 2012 at 11:15 am

Hee Weeb!

There is not much I feel like saying today. I am so sad that you are not with us here any more.

Some people call today the anniversary of your death (if it’s not tomorrow, that is.) It’s certainly the anniversary of your accident. It’s definitely the anniversary of the worst day in the life of our family.

Some call it your angel day, but you’re not an angel. You are a Child of God living in His presence. That means today is the anniversary of your home-going. It’s Home Day, or Heaven Day, I guess.

Whatever this day is called, I am happy for you, and sad for us. It’s a roller coaster kind of day for me, and I don’t particularly care for roller coasters.

I am often sad about all of the things I will not get to do with you here on Earth, then I realize that we will be together here on the Earth one day, and then on the New Earth. Our time together is not over: It’s only paused. If you had merely moved to Seattle, I’d be sad. Instead, you are in a place that is hard for me to understand. You may well be much closer than Seattle, yet at times you seem so much further away.

Yet Heaven is where God is, and God is here with me. He’s also in Seattle, and He’s where you are, too. We are together in a way that I cannot understand. Sometimes maybe I feel it.

I continue to think about you every day.

Today we will have a picnic to celebrate your life, both with us and in Heaven. It is being planned by Aunt Tricia and her family, and we will have to hold it indoors, because it is raining. Mommy said that the weather matches her mood. I say it’s raining in my heart, but only because you like Buddy Holly so much. It would have been nice to have it under the monkey tree in the front yard.

It has dawned on me that Heaven has many more residents who were children when they died than those who were adults. So many are miscarried, are stillborn, starve, die of disease, are aborted, etc. While it’s a sad fact of life that children die, it is comforting to me to realize that so many die before they can reject God. I am convinced that you are in good human company there.

I’ll be there with you soon (relative to the grand expanse of eternity,) as will Mommy and your six siblings. I’m sure you are not pining away waiting for us, but parts of us are pining away waiting to be there. It’s a good thing to long for being with God, trinity to trinity. Until then, I’ll try to bring as many along as I can. I love you.

Posted by Mommy on Feb 25, 2012 at 11:29 pm

Sweet Weeble, this day last year I fixed you your last dinner. You dropped it on the floor, then sat in my chair with me and shared mine. We had pudding cups for dessert. Then I kissed you goodnight for the last time. It was the end of our last whole day with you. I’ll always love how soft you felt and how sweet you smelled and how I loved to stroke your hair. When I said I wanted you to stay my little boy forever, this isn’t what I meant. I love you more than you will ever know. I miss your smile and your goofy little laugh. ♥ ♥ ♥