Wednesday, October 2, 2013

Rock, Paper, Scissors

 The other night I was crying about missing Bradley.
How empty my arms are feeling.
How empty the pictures I'm taking are.
How empty our moments and memories are feeling.

And Jacob came and got in bed with me and asked if I was missing Bradley.
I told him, I was, as I wiped my tears on his shirt.
And Jacob said he was too.
He said he wished he could play Rock, Paper, Scissors with Bradley again.
I started laughing and told him I didn't know they had played that game together.
And Jacob explained that Bradley was always paper.
And if Jacob wanted to beat Bradley, he would be scissors.
And if Jacob wanted Bradley to win, he would be rock.
We are redecorating the house.
Trying to make the house peaceful.
Also doing jobs we have neglected for two years because of our stress and grief.
And the toys have been out of control and needing to go somewhere.
My children are out growing them too.
I had to move the girls back into the big bedroom, in order to move the toys into Jacob's room.
Bradley and Jacob went into the big bedroom when Bradley got the nurse.
Made sense that Bradley get the big room,
 since he had more medical equipment then the girls.
And as they have come to pick up the medical equipment,
I have realized the only personal possessions Bradley had were his clothes.
It's hard to even have toys when you are blind.
At one point Bradley had tons of toys for therapy,
but most had been taken by Charlotte and used for her dolls.
And Bradley did not mind.
Tonight I cleaned out the dresser we were using for him.
His life had been so hectic.
So progressively, regressive.
Everything, I saved to be done after he got here, never happened.
He never even had a dresser.
He was using an old buffet that was perfect for his medical supplies along with his clothes.
So he never got a chest of drawers like the other kids.
And Bradley did not complain.
Tonight I unloaded the buffet that wasn't his;
that he only used because of the medical supplies.
And I took the last things out of the drawers, which were his clothes.
His beautiful clothes that smell like him.
The t-shirts with funny words.
The clothes he wore in every picture I have of him.
The clothes which hold so many memories.
And I loaded them into a storage box with a tight fitting lid.
I'm hoping the tightness of the lid helps them to never lose their scent.
And when I was looking for the perfect box in the closet,
I came across hand-me-downs from Jacob,
 that Bradley was supposed to fit into someday.
Which is harder?
The clothes he actually wore?
Or the clothes I hoped he would one day wear?
I've lost a child.
I've lost a friend.
I've lost a purpose.
But it's a strange loss.
The regression was so cruel the last year,
I was not planning much for his future.
Planning for his future would nearly paralyzed me.
And now I'm just empty.
 I'm lacking.
But I've been lacking a while.
He was gone a long time ago, in so many ways.
I wish I could go back to this time,
before the 20+ seizure days.
Pray that I can have a dream about him soon.
One where I can see him crawl or walk or smile.
I miss my baby.
But I've been missing him for longer then 3.5 weeks.
It's been slow, progressive regression.
I'm crying tonight for everything lost.