Hello Son,

In a few day’s time, you would have turned 32 years old. You know what, my heart? I sit here sometimes at night and wonder what life would have been like had you survived. What would it feel like to have your arms around me hugging me tight as you whisper into my ear “I love you Mom.” To have you lightly kiss my cheek before evening prayer is said. What both of us have missed can never be measured I am afraid.

I wonder how you would have matured? What goals would you reach for, what goals would you have achieved. Would you have inherited your Father’s tall stature, his off-the-wall humor? Would you bear any of my tendencies- would you have been a rebel, or would you have grown into a sensitive, loving soul?

In high school would you have been on the football team, or known as the life of the party? So many questions plague me this time of year, but truth be told there is rarely a day that goes by that I don’t think about you my son.

When I think about the chaos of your birth, and the brief second I was allowed to hold you before you were whisked away and I was put back under, I feel so cheated. I know that God had a purpose for your being if only for a moment- but I don’t know what that purpose was then, nor do I now. I suppose one day, it will be revealed to me but for now it eludes me.

We couldn’t survive your passing my son, although we tried. But death back then at such a young age was something neither your father or I could ever comprehend and we swallowed our grief with chemicals and drink and the chasm between us grew ever wider until we both shattered.

I hope in the final moments of your life, God closed his loving arms around you and held you tight. I pray you weren’t scared as you moved toward the light and away from us. That someone, a nurse or an intern or a kindly doctor held you as well when you made that final journey.

I’m sorry I wasn’t there Jeremy in your final moments to kiss your forehead and tell you, my red-haired boy how much I love you-