A smiley little boy about Thomas' age sat beside me in church this morning. He had on the same lion Robeez that we have stored in a big box in the basement along with all of Thomas' other things.
I hate when things like that jump up and bite me in the ass...and proceed to break my heart.
At the end of Mass my priest announced that he'll be moving to a new parish in June. Father Dave was so wonderful when Thomas died. I was a relatively new member of the parish and he didn't know me from Adam, but he showed up at the hospital a few days after Thomas died to talk to My Beloved and I, and he said the most beautiful and moving funeral Mass I've ever heard a week later.
I always hoped one day he'd baptize another child of ours - I hoped he'd be a part of a happy celebration so that he could see how much we've healed since that day a year ago when he sat by my hospital bed and talked to us while we were still shell-shocked and too stunned to say much more than thank you.
I feel like he was a part of Thomas' life in some strange way. It's terribly unsettling that he's leaving.
I want to collect all the people that were a part of Thomas' tiny little life and keep them close. It's not the same as having Thomas here, of course, but staying near those people who touched my life and his during such an awful time has given me tremendous comfort.
I can't believe he's leaving. He knew my son - he knew of him, anyway. He can't go. Who will remember Thomas at my church now? Who besides me will remember the little white coffin on that lovely sunny day?
I'm tired of people leaving my life.
New rules: If you're in it right now in any way, shape or form, you're stuck with me. No more leaving - for any of you.
Sorry, that's just the way it is.
(Come on now, don't make me beg.)