My Isaiah Joseph,

I’m lying in your bed right now, of a room you never got to live in. I have your old Pokemon comforter on your bed because Elijah has been using your Minecraft one since you left us. I got a lot more cleaned and set up today, it’s just about done. Your little drawing of you holding the kite with your name on it is back above your bookshelf. Your nerf guns and two random pieces of wood from Mr. Mickey are lying next to your bed. I’ve got your Lego creations on your dresser and your lightbulb on and turned purple. Your Princess Peach stained glass castle window is on your door right above the Steeler sticker that you also hung up in Virginia. I have your sea glass bottles and your rocket bank on your window sill, just like you had it at Hawaii. Your room is set up as close as it can be to Hawaii, but still different.

I have some of your artwork framed and hanging up. I put up a net in the corner of your room to put some of your stuffed animals in there. It’s mostly the stuffed animals that you had lying in your closet in Hawaii, the ones on your bed stayed on your bed. The turtle Aunt Megan found that reminded her of you is hanging up by your door. Some of your cats vs. pickles are displayed on your bookshelf, but only half of them because daddy and I split them. There’s also a neon red light hanging up in here with your name on it because Aunt Megan and Uncle Brandon got them for everyones’ rooms when we got here.

It’s been a bad few weeks, I’ve just been “off”. A lot has happened with school ending, your siblings going to camp, hitting the year mark of losing you, daddy coming to visit, your brothers’ birthdays, we had to put Apollo to sleep, and now coming up on your birthday. I can tell when I feel like this and clock it right away. I can’t fix it, but I can seem to sit in it without it spiraling and getting worse. It’s been getting worse lately, though.

Today, I’m just absolutely freaking mad. The problem with when I’m mad is that I don’t know what to do with it. I was emptying out the box of shoes in your room and picked up your crocs and said to myself, “these were the last things he wore that morning to the beach” and they’re now sitting at the top of your closet. I look at your toys, your creations, your pictures, and your life only to know that there’s nothing left of it in this world. The only thing I’m left with are these tangible items that I’m clinging on to for dear life. Why couldn’t it have just been me? Thirty-eight years and creating four wonderful kids was more than enough life for me. You deserved so much more and we’re owed so much more time than you were given.

I’m pissed, baby. I could have never imagined the pain that would come with your loss. I could have never comprehended it because I still find myself not being able to comprehend that you’re gone. I’m so mad at myself, I’m mad at the world, I’m mad at anything and everything. Yet at the same time, I have nothing to direct my anger towards because there’s nothing or nobody to blame.

Anger is the worst emotion for me with losing you. Anger is the one that upends days and it then turns into weeks. Anger is the one that gets into my head and brings up more of the “what ifs” and all the “lasts”. My anger makes me focus less on those happy memories and more on what you’re missing out on.

I hate this grief. I hate that you’re not freaking here. I hate that you got cheated out of a full life.

I love you more than anything, baby. Goodnight and sweet dreams.