It’s been almost a year, Ishy
July 8, 2015 will be one year since you left us, Ish. A lot of stuff has changed in the last year – and surprisingly little at the same time. If you were here, you would know exactly what I mean, despite your young age, as you would be 6 years old as of last December. You would have started school this year. I always wondered why my gut didn’t tell me it was time to start preparing you for your start in kindegarden – now I know that God knew you would not be here.
Your dad is healing, as you know. He’s healing every day. We both miss you but he’s more…emotional about it than I tend to be though I miss you just as much. We have a “Wall of Ish” in our new apartment – you’d love this apartment – so much more room for you to Tigger-bounce around in.
I’m sure you remember these – you completed them in preschool and I wish I had you around to watch you learn more and more about the planets you were clearly interested in – and you had such potential. God, Ishy, though I would NOT bring you back even if I could – and in many ways, envy you already having passed this life and graduated into your new home, I still miss you so much. I trust you are taking care of Jude and visiting with your grandpa who, though never having had anything to do with you while you were alive, has likely reached a new level of understanding far surpassing my own. While you were on earth, you had nothing – and you had everything. You really ever had one home, as we moved around a lot and were homeless often, but you had two parents who would both have happily have lain down dead for you. We did our best, taught you right, didn’t let you get away with just any old thing. You were so smart, honey. We miss you every day.
I walk past your memorial site all the time. It’s still right there, where you died. There are 2 giant bears and two smaller ones. People come by all the time; I know because I can see when they’re changed around or set back up or whatever. Ishy, though you didn’t meet too many people, you made people love you. Not hard at all, my son – very easy, in fact. The lady who sent you to heaven is in a program for felons called COMCOR. We’ve gone to her family’s house and broke bread. We’ve spent time together with her son who was about a year younger than you. You and he and his cousin would all have been wonderful friends.
Daddy and I haven’t changed all that much. Our way of life has, I guess, but our attitudes are much the same; we still like spending time together talking like we always have since we met.
I can’t wait to come home, Ish. I can’t wait to spend time with you in your current form as I know it will be different by the time we see each other again. I still hope to meet you brother, Karl, and your sister, Katrina, again once they try to find me and I still believe they will.
I will see you soon, honey. Keep a spot open for me and Daddy.
All my love,