You've been gone four months now. Things here are awfully hard right now. There aren't any holidays, or milestones, or excuses to hide behind anymore. There is no shock now to make us feel like you've just taken a vacation. I'm not quietly, secretly convinced that you're going to walk back in the door, any minute now. There's just a great big hole in our lives where you used to be.
I haven't touched your room. Your bed is still unmade. In those first few weeks, I was still shocked to see that you were not there. Now I'm just overwhelmingly, profoundly sad.
I'm worried about your Daddy. He doesn't seem to want to do anything, or see anyone. I'm worried that he's going to give up, that he's not going to finish school. Baby, if you could give him a sign, any sign, that you want him to pick up and start living again, I know he could use it.
I'm scared, Bug. I'm scared that your memories are going to fade. I'm scared that some day, I will come across your Winnie-the-Pooh washcloth, but I won't be able to remember how soft your skin was, or how much you loved being SuperPidge in the hooded towel, or the sound of your laugh. I'm scared that some day, I won't be able to remember the night we sat under the big maple tree over by the school and you told be about the worst school day ever and you read me your poetry book and we figured out how to make the world better together. Those memories are all I have left of you and I'm so very terrified of losing them.
I'm sorry, sweetlove. I don't mean to dump on you. Baby, I hope that heaven is, well...heavenly. And I don't want you to worry too much. I know we're going to be OK in time. It's just that right now, it's a bit of a walk through hell down here. So if you have a bit of comfort to send to us, just a small sign that reminds us that your spirit is still here and that you know how much we miss you, we sure could use it right now.
I love you, sweet baby, and I miss you so much.