I’ve been feeling pretty good recently. Almost as if now that we’ve had Sam’s service I have closure, I can move forward.
In many, many ways we’ve been in mourning, of a sort, since the boys birth. At time time, we were told to say goodbye to Sam in the delivery room. Every time he got sick or had a setback, we had to prepare for the worst. I’m a realist by nature, so as much as I hope and want the best, part of me always remembers, well, the reality. When we learned about his PVS diagnosis, we started to seriously plan for the future; we planned our road trip, told our employers that there was a possibility we might need to take time off. We didn’t want that to come true of course, but things happen. I loved that little boy dearly. I still do. I always will. But now it’s like I have permission to move on, to continue living life, to make plans moving forward. I’m not perfect. Hell, I’m still bitter about a lot of things, still angry, still question some decisions. It will just take time for the bitterness to fade, to accept.
Sam’s garden is beautiful. His ashes are now buried with the tree; he’ll nourish the garden and live on. Sebastien’s room is the only room in the house that has a clear view of the garden. It wasn’t planned that way, but it’s how it should be. Every weekend I take Sebastien up to visit the tree, to tell him about his brother.