It happened on Father’s Day..
His first, his last..
I don’t even know him or the baby for that matter.
But I knew his mother from a long time ago, when she was a little girl growing up next door.
It seems hard to believe that I lived somewhere long enough in my adult life to watch a child grow up. She was so young when I first met her…younger than my kids are now.
When she outgrew her bike, she gave it to my daughter.
Now my daughter grew up and left home too.
I wonder what happens to the bicycles when there are no more little legs left to ride them.
The neighbor girl grew up to become a social worker. She rescues children from bad homes but couldn’t save her own child. The horrible injustice of it all must scratch at her wounded heart.
The funeral is tomorrow. It must be hard to pick out the last little outfit that your baby is going to wear in his coffin. I feel so much sorrow for you as I write this.
How devastating to have your baby ripped from your arms so unexpectedly. It’s hard to imagine him in a better place, a place without you.
Do you blame yourself?
Maybe if I noticed something wrong sooner…maybe I should’ve picked him up more when he fussed…maybe I should’ve stayed home with him longer before going back to work…maybe…maybe…maybe…this wouldn’t have happened..
It wasn’t your fault.
I can’t imagine the pain that you are feeling.
I’m so sorry you lost your sweet baby.