New Year's is approaching fast. The plans Grampa and I had been making to share this holiday with you have been pushed further and further to the background, replaced by the overwhelming void your absence has left. The earphones we bought to protect your sensitive ears from the loud booms of fireworks still sit in my closet, untouched and still sealed in their package, a silent reminder of what will never be. Your new winter coat, never to be worn and never to keep you warm, is carefully packed away, waiting for a moment that will never come. Some of the neighbors jumped in to start celebrating with their fireworks early, setting them off last night while I was on my way home from a late closing. I pulled over and parked on the side of the road, hoping against hope that the once all-consuming excitement and wonder I used to feel would somehow spark again, that the magic of the lights and colors would awaken even a tiny flicker of joy. But instead, I sat there at the edge of the road, tears streaming down my face, as I tried to watch the different patterns and colors streak their way across the night sky. The booms, once so thrilling and alive, felt distant and hollow. Even the colors seemed less vibrant, muted and faded, as if dulled by the heavy weight of my grief and the emptiness of my disinterest.
Zayden, you have been gone for 3 weeks. Three weeks that have felt like an unrelenting eternity. There are moments when the pain feels fleeting, as if you’ve only been gone for a few seconds, but most of the time the ache is unbearable, as if you’ve been gone forever. I miss everything about you. I miss your wild, untamable hair that always did its own thing, no matter how hard we tried to tame it. I miss your tiny little hands that would wave just above the side rail of your crib, defiant and determined, letting us know you wouldn’t be caged in for much longer. I miss simply standing there beside you, quiet and still, watching you sleep so peacefully, savoring the rare calmness of those moments. I even miss your late-night mischief—those little moments of trouble that always brought a smile to our faces, no matter how tired we were. Everything about you, every little detail, is etched into my heart, and I ache to experience it all over again.
I haven't been able to move past my desperate need to scream at the heavens. I feel this constant urge to rage and cry out, and I have ranted so many times, questioning how unfair God could be to take you away from us. It feels so unjust, so incomprehensible. You were just beginning to carve your place in this world, just starting your journey of determination, growth, and achievements that would’ve amazed everyone who met you. Losing you has left me completely shattered, and it still hurts so much to even breathe. Every breath feels labored, as though the heaviness in and on my chest refuses to ease. Is it the weight of God Himself sitting on my chest, holding me down, trying to stop me from rushing into Heaven, grabbing you, and bringing you back to us? I keep searching for answers, for something to ground myself in this unbearable storm of loss, but I can’t seem to find them. I don’t have the answers, and the lack of them only makes my pain heavier.
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