My Isaiah Joseph,
One year ago today you did your final act of kindness on this earth. One year ago today, was the last time I got to kiss you, put my fingers through your hair, and hold your hand. One year ago today, I had to say “goodbye” to my second born child at only eight years old. I have not watched your Honor Walk yet today, I haven’t seen it in a while. I am going to wait until I post this letter since it’s so incredibly heavy.
I had been preparing for this day since we got you to the ER that first day. In my mind I knew it was coming, but didn’t want to let my mind fully go there. I’d spent the week lying in bed with you, holding your hand, reading you Dog Man and Captain Underpants books, listening to your playlist, and watching movies you loved. I recorded the sound of your heart beating, I took pictures I didn’t think I’d ever want to look at, and tried to memorize how it felt to touch your arms and your legs.
A few hours before your Honor Walk, I started to panic. I cut pieces of your hair off that I didn’t know what I would do with, I kissed you a million times, and told you I loved you even more. How was this going to be the last hours I would see you for the rest of my life? How does a parent even comprehend that?
We played your Foo Fighters song for your Honor Walk, because I thought it fit the occasion perfectly. The hardest part of that Honor Walk was watching your siblings put their leis on you and kiss you “goodbye”. I cannot imagine having to go through such a traumatic event at such a young age. That moment is absolutely devastating to watch, but it’s also so beautiful. Your siblings loved you with everything that they had and I know you loved them just the same.
When we got to the hallway of the OR and had to say goodbye, I gave you a huge hug, kissed you a hundred times, and told you I loved you. As they wheeled you away, I wanted to run back up to you and kiss you again, but I didn’t. I didn’t think I was allowed, but I wish I would have done it. Even getting to kiss you just one more time wouldn’t have been enough. Nothing would be enough when you know you’re about to lose your child forever.
People don’t talk about it enough, but when you have a baby, it’s so odd to go to the hospital and leave days later with life having completely changed. This experience was like that, but the opposite. They wheeled you off into the OR and daddy and I just sat down in the chairs in the hallway and bawled our eyes out. Our baby boy was officially gone.
We eventually got into the elevators, went up to the lobby, and walked outside. It was an absolutely beautiful and sunny day out. I watched people walk in and out of the medical center, most just going for normal appointments, wondering how everything in the world was still the same. All these people were just going on with their lives, going to appointments, and wondering what the next parts of their days entailed. All these people were having a regular day, while my entire world was ripped apart. As soon as I walked out those doors, it was just like I was thrust back into the real world. I had just lost my son, yet I’m now supposed to just go back home and continue on with my life.
I received a random Facebook message tonight from a woman I don’t even know. I had posted about you on one of the Army Wives pages last year after I was looking for any ounce of hope that you’d pull through. I was looking for personal stories of people who had dealt with the same thing, but had a better outcome. I never found any other stories of happy endings, but I got so much support from that community. This woman had lost a sibling when she was younger on this day and remembered you and I. She sent me a beautiful message just telling me she was thinking about us. It meant everything in the world to me for someone to tell me they thought of you today.
I’m going to end this now because this letter has been a lot on me emotionally to write. Not a second goes by in my life that I don’t think about you and miss you. I am so incredibly proud to have been your mother and can only hope that we will be reunited one day. I love you more than anything in the world, my sweet boy. Goodnight and sweet dreams.
To the readers on this Earth, if you have followed any of Isaiah’s story, please do an act of kindness today and share it on his website. Please feel free to email the site if you have anything to say and please leave memories you have of my sweet boy. Please share it far and wide so Isaiah’s legacy can continue on and grow.
If the site isn’t fully up and functioning when you click on it, please continue to check back as we are dealing with a few technical difficulties. Doing this for Isaiah and reading things about him are what help me continue on each and every day. -Danielle
www.isaiahslight.com