Last Saturday, Levi turned four.
We celebrated by having the Stanleys here for the afternoon. We ate ice cream cupcakes (which Levi totally wouldn't have been able to eat, because he was lactose intolerant), his Papa sent off some rockets (which he would have loved), and then we all wrote little sentiments on cards, tied them to helium balloons, and sent them to heaven for him. Several friends came by and brought more balloons, flowers, and cheerful faces with them.
It could have been an awful, hard, day of mourning. But it wasn't. It was a day of joy, and remembering, and thinking about our little man. Together.
I meant to post about it earlier in the week. But while Saturday was great, the weeks before and since have both been very hard for me. I am having flashbacks of the actual trauma, and being angry that this happened, and being angry that he isn't here anymore. I'm angry that it's spring and I can see his trucks outside on the ground and they are just sitting there, because he's not here to play with them. I'm angry that I don't get to hear him talking and know what he would be saying and learning and doing now. I'm angry about so much.
It will pass. As will this cold that my kids have collectively passed on to me, and which is making my head feel like cotton candy, but less enjoyable. In the meantime, I will try to keep living my life, try not to hide too much from the pain, and try not to let that anger leak out onto those I love.
It's a lot to try for. But I have to.