There is something about this time of year - with the trees coming into full bloom, among the renewed life cyle of Mother Nature - that brings forth a certain hollowness that is hidden deep within my core. It's not the reminders of the love I do not have, but the love I've had that has slipped away into another realm. It is the memories of those souls who have touched me the deepest, the ties that bind which should never break, that have seemingly unnaturally been severed. It is the deepest of bonds that have been broken, and in turn have left me slightly broken.
May 29, 2003 an angel was born into my life. He was called Brayden, and though he wasn't from my body, his spirit was and is eternally bonded closer with mine than any I've come across. He wasn't supposed to live after his second week on this earth. At first, I couldn't bring myself to see him. I didn't want to love someone else whom I was going to lose. I finally mustered up the courage to see this tiny gift. I'll never forget walking into that cold white room more full of machines and tubes than babies. He was in the back corner, as not to frighten the other parents. I'd been prepared for the worst, to stumble into a horrific image of a distorted, weak, and dying infant. I made my way to his bed, seeing the monitors, tubes, and wires before I could see his tiny body. I had a tiny stuffed baby lamb clenched in my right hand, hoping to offer some sort of comfort to what had been declared a "hopeless cause". My eyes met his, and as a tear fell from my cheek - he greeted me with a smile. Not the kind of smile most of us know, the kind of smile of a love you've known for thousands of years and have waited for all of this life to see. He wasn't horrid, distorted, or any such thing. He was, in fact, the most amazing thing I'd ever seen. This was the first of many times he would take my breath away. He heard me, he responded, and he eventually came home. There would be no pulling of the plug. (I'd like to kick the nurse square in the face who said, "There's no point in talking to those 'neuro babies' - they're not really here anyway.")
Brayden became the most pure and entire joy in my life. I kept him more than my sister did. He couldn't walk, but after constantly working with his hands, he could use them. (If I've achieved nothing else in this life that alone is enough for me) He was my days, he was my nights. He looked at me as though I were a miracle. There was an other wordly bond there that anyone who saw the two of us together couldn't deny. He said very few words, and my name was one of them. Speechless as he was, we'd converse for hours through eye contact. It didn't even seem odd to me. He progressed, we worked together as hard as both of us could, and we were both doing so well.
June 17, 2005 - The most indescribably horrific day in my life's history to date. It's not a blur, but it's so much to remember every detail that I'll go on about it at a later date. My miracle, my joy, my shining star transcended into another realm of existance. I knew it even before I'd gotten the news - I literally felt it when he passed. Luckily, I didn't have him the night before. I woke up with a feeling of strange calmness, and I know that feeling all too well. It's the same feeling which has come over me every single time a loved one has passed.
I know that, in the special place of perfection he is in right now, he gave me the strength to survive such a loss. At his funeral, he supplied me with the Will to get up and speak. I was ill prepared, but standing over his tiny body, I knew exactly what to say - for the first time in my life. Clumsy Sara found words deep enough that not only have I had numerous people who attended the funeral call me and tell me how I restored their faith, but even the preacher set me aside and told me that my speech moved him to the point of shame for the doubt he had felt.
It is days like this when I relive it all, that it hurts beyond belief. It still feels like yesterday.
My groove: remenescent, too deep for my own good...
