Every time I have started working on the one year anniversary blog about John's death I back space it away. I just can't put into words what it is I would like to say. So I've decided to just let it all flow freely, and whatever comes out this time, stays...please forgive my rambling...
I miss him. So much. You know the saying "you miss them so much it hurts". It's true. I miss him so much it hurts. It has hurt since September 5th 2016. It hurts just as much now as it did then. I know people say time heals, and it will get easier, but it doesn't. I move along in my life, yes, but I find myself stuck in a cold PICU room often.
I can literally walk myself down the hall at Monroe Regional in my mind. My dad standing there in the corner of the hospital all alone. My mom puffy eyed from crying, coming out of the double doors. John being pushed through on a gurney to his helicopter flight. So many wires. So many devices being used to keep his frail and broken body alive. The blank distant stare of my sister, completely traumatized look that breaks your soul.
Angela saw and went through things that day that I wish I could take from her memory. Erase all of the awful and painful things she had to witness. Like the sight of her limp baby boy sitting on his killers lap like it was just another day at the sitters. Like not hearing her baby take breaths from the back seat as she sped to the hospital. Like carrying her lifeless baby in her arms to nurses at the hospital. Like witnessing grown adults sitting on her baby performing chest compression. Hearing that hopeful beat of a little heart...only to have to decide to end its beating because he was just hurt so badly. He was a shell of our beautiful baby.
Thinking about his hurt makes my heart race. Thinking about his last hours on this earth sets panic into my soul. And I hate writing these blogs because I know how much it hurts me to dig it all up..I can only imagine how it affects Angela...but I write them so that the world can understand our grief. So that when children are murdered it isn't surrounded by hush and stigma, but instead replaced with the fight for justice.
Our sweet boy was murdered. No matter how many times I have said that out loud. No matter how many times I write it here, I can't help but cry. She murdered him in cold blood. An 11 month old baby. A week before his first birthday. That had a Mommy that would have traded places with him in an instant, without hesitation. A Mommy that still cries herself to sleep most nights, clinging to a John sized ninja turtle in his jammies. Under a quilt made from his little clothes.
That's what she has to comfort her at night. A stuffed animal and a blanket.
When I think about John, all I can picture in my head are the pictures we have of him. Virginia and I discussed it one day, and it makes it seem so much worse. I've forgot what it felt like to hold his squishy body in my arms. To scoop him out of his crib when I stopped to visit and he was sleeping. The sound of his giggle. Its all gone. We have pictures of pictures in our heads. Memories of memories. Nothing new, just the same ones on repeat. Usually its the bad ones that pop up first.
I want him in my arms, and I really want him in my sister's arms. That is where he belongs. That is one of the last images I have in my mind of him. Her holding his little body so tight against her heart, tears and sobs coming from her core. I have never felt so helpless in my life, probably never will again as I did in those final moments. I couldn't make him better. I couldn't take his place. I couldn't comfort her. I couldn't do anything but watch as he slipped away from us forever.
I think about what he would look like now. He would be walking, talking and giving his momma a run for her money. Thinking about what he'd be today makes yesterday even harder to let go of. He should be toddling around the yard picking up gross bugs and putting things in his mouth he shouldn't be. I try so hard to think about what he would look like, yet all I can picture are his pictures.
I have worked on this blog since a week before his one year anniversary. I just can't seem to perfect what I want to convey here. I want the world to remember our baby but I also want to world to know what this living hell has been like for our family. On my bed there is a throw pillow about 22 inches long and 8 inches wide. Similar size as John, and on it is one of his onsies. It is a hot little fireman outfit I got him. I would go to the store just about every Friday after I got paid just to buy one or two outfits for John. I was so excited about him coming along! I put it on the pillow so I can "Cuddle" him when I feel furthest away from him. The day of his birthday, I walked inside and saw it there on the bed and came apart. I sat on the bed just holding him and crying. Trying so hard to grasp some semblance of a memory of what it felt like to hold him.
There are no more ways in which I can adequately describe this nightmare. The trial will start soon, and we will be forced to relive those days yet again. We will be forced to hear and see things we don't know, and probably will wish we never know about that day. My stomach churns in knots just thinking about it.
I just want our baby back. I dream of the day I get to see him again. And I hope like hell it is a long time from now, but a dark little part of me would go out today if I could just hold him one more time. Kiss that sweet little fat face. Trace the rolls of his fat little hands. Get a good sniff of his hair. Anything...any little piece of him. It would never satisfy the longing to have him back, but it sure would help put a piece back into my broken heart.
I think about all the things I wish I could have done while he was here. All the moments I let slip by me. All the weekends I could have taken him home with me, and didn't because I was too "busy". Those moments stolen from us forever. Regrets that will haunt me the rest of my days. All the backwoods riding we could have done with the windows down jamming out to Mr. Luke Bryan...especially Kick The Dust Up. I can see him smiling from the seat beside me thinking I must be some kind of crazy the way I would sing and make faces at him.
This world truly is a worse off place without John. He was our light, our smile...our heart. We will never be able to replace what has been taken from us. After reading this I still don't feel like I have done this unforgivable year any justice. I feel like this blog doesn't cover what I need it to, but the things I want to share...would devastate your heart too.
I miss him. So much. You know the saying "you miss them so much it hurts". It's true. I miss him so much it hurts. It has hurt since September 5th 2016. It hurts just as much now as it did then. I know people say time heals, and it will get easier, but it doesn't. I move along in my life, yes, but I find myself stuck in a cold PICU room often.
I can literally walk myself down the hall at Monroe Regional in my mind. My dad standing there in the corner of the hospital all alone. My mom puffy eyed from crying, coming out of the double doors. John being pushed through on a gurney to his helicopter flight. So many wires. So many devices being used to keep his frail and broken body alive. The blank distant stare of my sister, completely traumatized look that breaks your soul.Angela saw and went through things that day that I wish I could take from her memory. Erase all of the awful and painful things she had to witness. Like the sight of her limp baby boy sitting on his killers lap like it was just another day at the sitters. Like not hearing her baby take breaths from the back seat as she sped to the hospital. Like carrying her lifeless baby in her arms to nurses at the hospital. Like witnessing grown adults sitting on her baby performing chest compression. Hearing that hopeful beat of a little heart...only to have to decide to end its beating because he was just hurt so badly. He was a shell of our beautiful baby.
Thinking about his hurt makes my heart race. Thinking about his last hours on this earth sets panic into my soul. And I hate writing these blogs because I know how much it hurts me to dig it all up..I can only imagine how it affects Angela...but I write them so that the world can understand our grief. So that when children are murdered it isn't surrounded by hush and stigma, but instead replaced with the fight for justice.
Our sweet boy was murdered. No matter how many times I have said that out loud. No matter how many times I write it here, I can't help but cry. She murdered him in cold blood. An 11 month old baby. A week before his first birthday. That had a Mommy that would have traded places with him in an instant, without hesitation. A Mommy that still cries herself to sleep most nights, clinging to a John sized ninja turtle in his jammies. Under a quilt made from his little clothes.
That's what she has to comfort her at night. A stuffed animal and a blanket.
When I think about John, all I can picture in my head are the pictures we have of him. Virginia and I discussed it one day, and it makes it seem so much worse. I've forgot what it felt like to hold his squishy body in my arms. To scoop him out of his crib when I stopped to visit and he was sleeping. The sound of his giggle. Its all gone. We have pictures of pictures in our heads. Memories of memories. Nothing new, just the same ones on repeat. Usually its the bad ones that pop up first.
I want him in my arms, and I really want him in my sister's arms. That is where he belongs. That is one of the last images I have in my mind of him. Her holding his little body so tight against her heart, tears and sobs coming from her core. I have never felt so helpless in my life, probably never will again as I did in those final moments. I couldn't make him better. I couldn't take his place. I couldn't comfort her. I couldn't do anything but watch as he slipped away from us forever.
I think about what he would look like now. He would be walking, talking and giving his momma a run for her money. Thinking about what he'd be today makes yesterday even harder to let go of. He should be toddling around the yard picking up gross bugs and putting things in his mouth he shouldn't be. I try so hard to think about what he would look like, yet all I can picture are his pictures.
I have worked on this blog since a week before his one year anniversary. I just can't seem to perfect what I want to convey here. I want the world to remember our baby but I also want to world to know what this living hell has been like for our family. On my bed there is a throw pillow about 22 inches long and 8 inches wide. Similar size as John, and on it is one of his onsies. It is a hot little fireman outfit I got him. I would go to the store just about every Friday after I got paid just to buy one or two outfits for John. I was so excited about him coming along! I put it on the pillow so I can "Cuddle" him when I feel furthest away from him. The day of his birthday, I walked inside and saw it there on the bed and came apart. I sat on the bed just holding him and crying. Trying so hard to grasp some semblance of a memory of what it felt like to hold him.
There are no more ways in which I can adequately describe this nightmare. The trial will start soon, and we will be forced to relive those days yet again. We will be forced to hear and see things we don't know, and probably will wish we never know about that day. My stomach churns in knots just thinking about it.
I just want our baby back. I dream of the day I get to see him again. And I hope like hell it is a long time from now, but a dark little part of me would go out today if I could just hold him one more time. Kiss that sweet little fat face. Trace the rolls of his fat little hands. Get a good sniff of his hair. Anything...any little piece of him. It would never satisfy the longing to have him back, but it sure would help put a piece back into my broken heart.I think about all the things I wish I could have done while he was here. All the moments I let slip by me. All the weekends I could have taken him home with me, and didn't because I was too "busy". Those moments stolen from us forever. Regrets that will haunt me the rest of my days. All the backwoods riding we could have done with the windows down jamming out to Mr. Luke Bryan...especially Kick The Dust Up. I can see him smiling from the seat beside me thinking I must be some kind of crazy the way I would sing and make faces at him.
This world truly is a worse off place without John. He was our light, our smile...our heart. We will never be able to replace what has been taken from us. After reading this I still don't feel like I have done this unforgivable year any justice. I feel like this blog doesn't cover what I need it to, but the things I want to share...would devastate your heart too.
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