They say it gets easier. I am not sure who they are because wrapping our son in a soft blue blanket, placing him in a tiny casket and say goodbye doesn't get easier, even five years later. Five years? It seems just like yesterday. I can still hear the doctors voice as he pushes back his chair and echoes to us that baby b, known to us already as Brody didn't have a heartbeat. I can still feel the sharp pain in my chest, the lump in my throat as the walls in the ultrasound room came crashing in on us.
A couple weeks after our loss I was picking up Parker from his school at Chester; Blake was sound asleep in his carseat in the back. I was sitting in the pick up line waiting as a class full of kindergarten children came running outside, playing, laughing and jumping in the sunshine. Tears started streaming down my face as I thought about how Brody wouldn't be running out those doors one day as a kindergartener. Five years later and I should be registering two little boys for Kindergarten and all I can think about is that day sitting in my car thinking about all the things we are about to miss out on with our son. Everyday I wonder what Brody would look like, his personality, what he would love and even silly little things like if he would want jelly or honey on his peanut butter sandwich. Five years have gone by and I have been blessed to watch Brody's twin brother Blake grow into a confident little five year old, riding his bike without training wheels, writing his name, reading books, playing soccer, and cuddling with me on Sunday mornings watching cartoons.
I pray everyday that Brody is happy. The easy part comes from seeing and embracing the smile on my childrens faces but the reality is that I have learned how to hold my pain inside and not let people see the emptiness in my soul but I am broken, shaken and a piece of me destroyed.
