Every joyful experience with him and his family was tinged with grief. When he
laughed or smiled, we wondered exactly how many more times we would get to snuggle him, tickle him,
play peek-a-boo with him.
He said to me the words I say to him in the moments when HE needs to hear it the
most. It felt serendipitous, yet completely logical, and I immediately started to feel better. The
clouds began to lift. And I realized that he has been listening (whether it be subconsciously or
consciously or BOTH), the whole time.
Things are different now. Not perfect—not even remotely close. And not even
always good. Sometimes we still have bad moments. And by moments I mean days. And by days I mean
weeks. But still, mostly better.
