Mom came with me to your ultrasound. She was in awe of being able to see you bouncing around inside. They didn't reveal the gender back then. The ultrasound tech said she. "She?" both mom and I asked. "I call all of the babies she" the tech replied. Mom and I gave knowing glances. I told your father we were having a girl. I guess he had his heart set on a boy. He left. That's why you didn't have his last name. I'm glad he reappeared in your adult life and you got to spend a couple of years together. I wish I could have given you a daddy your whole life. "No matter" mom said, "I am his father". You two were buddies. You were the little boy that she never had. Grandma's baby she would call you. Then when you were 14 she died and there forever remained a sadness about you.
You were born one month early, the smallest of my babies and the last of my babies, my only son. Mom and I had decorated the nursery in pink and white eyelet and had not a stitch of boy's clothes. Mom tried. She bought "anything boy" at a local clothing store but all of it was too big. Your sister had a boy doll with a sailor's suit on it so guess what you wore until I could shop? You had a head full of black hair that curled and stuck up in various places. It was as soft and silky as a kitten's ear. At about 1 year of age you grew bored with the black hair and began to grow platinum blonde underneath. Eventually your whole head was blonde. At last, you settled for brown hair as your final hair color. Your eyes were a beautiful blue changing to a beautiful green at about age 12.
You amazed me with your brilliance. As a newborn you would stare intently at things, studying them, figuring them out. When you were 10 months old you took the wind up TV toy, jack-in-the-box, and other toys that were in your crib, and built stairs and climbed out of your crib. And remember when you were 4 and realized that a butter knife could double as a screwdriver? But the most amazing part was when I said, "Now put the doorknob back together and my iron too". And you did. Perfectly! I didn't expect it.
You grew into a fine gentleman and I say with pride that you were a mama's boy. I know you loved and adored me and you knew that I loved and adored you. We had a friendship, not just a parent/child relationship. I tried to be your father too. I remember the teen years: You in your room suddenly shouting "Mom come see! Hurry!" My heart dropped as I wondered what horrible thing had occurred. I rushed to your room to see you pointing to the TV. "Isn't that the finest girl you've ever seen?" As time passed, I learned how to comment on a "fine girl". I miss those mother-father/son moments. You were very protective of me and I know that you couldn't stand to see me suffer. You had a good and loving heart. That's probably why it got broken a lot. You just could not seem to find "the one". But you had 2 gorgeous children that you loved and adored. They brought you great pride. And they loved and adored their daddy so much. You had a way with children. Even the shyest baby would be giggling in a short time when you interacted with them.
You were real smart and could figure things out. I loved that I would ask you to fix something and you would do it immediately. Your friends would bring their cars for you to fix. You knew electronics, computers, air conditioning, automotive...so many things. You could do anything you set your mind to. And you loved to cook, especially for your lady friends. You also loved playing darts competitively. I remember you telling me how your team had won and you showing me a trophy. Sorry that I didn't show more interest. You were fun to be around and one friend described you as "down to earth". You were passionately crazy about the New Orleans Saints. Buying Christmas presents for you was easy-anything Saints. For your funeral I had everyone wear Saints apparel. You would have loved that!
We spoke on the phone every day. Occasionally we'd skip a day. That Monday, the 5th of March, as I was cooking dinner, I suddenly blurted out loud, " I haven't heard from Adam today!" Your sister was visiting and said, "Call him". I said I would call you later, squelching that panicky feeling and remembering our conversation the day before. I told you that I had appointments and tests scheduled that Monday and I realized that you were just giving me a chance to recuperate. You were always considerate that way. I planned on calling you in the morning and I wanted to ask you what I should bring for you when I came to visit in 5 days. But you didn't answer.
The coroner listed the official death date as Tuesday, March 6, 2018 but I know that you died that Monday, the 5th. A mother knows. The mother and child spirits are connected by an invisible umbilical cord that was, and never will be, severed. As a mother, I will never "heal" or "get over it" because a part of me is in another place, having been brought there by this invisible umbilical cord. As miraculous as the creation of life and giving birth is, so is the deep attachment of mother and child that reaches beyond the grave and actually has the mother partially in another realm. It is an almost secret place that only a grieving mother knows and is hard to describe, just as her grief is hard to describe. I have grieved for my mother, my best friend, my fur babies, but this grief for you Adam, my baby, does not fit the word 'grief'. It is much bigger and deeper than that, extending beyond the world and universe and the knowledge of grief known to man, into a place that only I can touch and yet do not want to. As it was in the beginning, just you and I, it is in death too.....just you and I.
You were born one month early, the smallest of my babies and the last of my babies, my only son. Mom and I had decorated the nursery in pink and white eyelet and had not a stitch of boy's clothes. Mom tried. She bought "anything boy" at a local clothing store but all of it was too big. Your sister had a boy doll with a sailor's suit on it so guess what you wore until I could shop? You had a head full of black hair that curled and stuck up in various places. It was as soft and silky as a kitten's ear. At about 1 year of age you grew bored with the black hair and began to grow platinum blonde underneath. Eventually your whole head was blonde. At last, you settled for brown hair as your final hair color. Your eyes were a beautiful blue changing to a beautiful green at about age 12.
You amazed me with your brilliance. As a newborn you would stare intently at things, studying them, figuring them out. When you were 10 months old you took the wind up TV toy, jack-in-the-box, and other toys that were in your crib, and built stairs and climbed out of your crib. And remember when you were 4 and realized that a butter knife could double as a screwdriver? But the most amazing part was when I said, "Now put the doorknob back together and my iron too". And you did. Perfectly! I didn't expect it.
You grew into a fine gentleman and I say with pride that you were a mama's boy. I know you loved and adored me and you knew that I loved and adored you. We had a friendship, not just a parent/child relationship. I tried to be your father too. I remember the teen years: You in your room suddenly shouting "Mom come see! Hurry!" My heart dropped as I wondered what horrible thing had occurred. I rushed to your room to see you pointing to the TV. "Isn't that the finest girl you've ever seen?" As time passed, I learned how to comment on a "fine girl". I miss those mother-father/son moments. You were very protective of me and I know that you couldn't stand to see me suffer. You had a good and loving heart. That's probably why it got broken a lot. You just could not seem to find "the one". But you had 2 gorgeous children that you loved and adored. They brought you great pride. And they loved and adored their daddy so much. You had a way with children. Even the shyest baby would be giggling in a short time when you interacted with them.
You were real smart and could figure things out. I loved that I would ask you to fix something and you would do it immediately. Your friends would bring their cars for you to fix. You knew electronics, computers, air conditioning, automotive...so many things. You could do anything you set your mind to. And you loved to cook, especially for your lady friends. You also loved playing darts competitively. I remember you telling me how your team had won and you showing me a trophy. Sorry that I didn't show more interest. You were fun to be around and one friend described you as "down to earth". You were passionately crazy about the New Orleans Saints. Buying Christmas presents for you was easy-anything Saints. For your funeral I had everyone wear Saints apparel. You would have loved that!
We spoke on the phone every day. Occasionally we'd skip a day. That Monday, the 5th of March, as I was cooking dinner, I suddenly blurted out loud, " I haven't heard from Adam today!" Your sister was visiting and said, "Call him". I said I would call you later, squelching that panicky feeling and remembering our conversation the day before. I told you that I had appointments and tests scheduled that Monday and I realized that you were just giving me a chance to recuperate. You were always considerate that way. I planned on calling you in the morning and I wanted to ask you what I should bring for you when I came to visit in 5 days. But you didn't answer.
The coroner listed the official death date as Tuesday, March 6, 2018 but I know that you died that Monday, the 5th. A mother knows. The mother and child spirits are connected by an invisible umbilical cord that was, and never will be, severed. As a mother, I will never "heal" or "get over it" because a part of me is in another place, having been brought there by this invisible umbilical cord. As miraculous as the creation of life and giving birth is, so is the deep attachment of mother and child that reaches beyond the grave and actually has the mother partially in another realm. It is an almost secret place that only a grieving mother knows and is hard to describe, just as her grief is hard to describe. I have grieved for my mother, my best friend, my fur babies, but this grief for you Adam, my baby, does not fit the word 'grief'. It is much bigger and deeper than that, extending beyond the world and universe and the knowledge of grief known to man, into a place that only I can touch and yet do not want to. As it was in the beginning, just you and I, it is in death too.....just you and I.
Mom came with me to your ultrasound. She was in awe of being able to see you bouncing around inside. They didn't reveal the gender back then. The ultrasound tech said she. "She?" both mom and I asked. "I call all of the babies she" the tech replied. Mom and I gave knowing glances. I told your father we were having a girl. I guess he had his heart set on a boy. He left. That's why you didn't have his last name. I'm glad he reappeared in your adult life and you got to spend a couple of years together. I wish I could have given you a daddy your whole life. "No matter" mom said, "I am his father". You two were buddies. You were the little boy that she never had. Grandma's baby she would call you. Then when you were 14 she died and there forever remained a sadness about you.
You were born one month early, the smallest of my babies and the last of my babies, my only son. Mom and I had decorated the nursery in pink and white eyelet and had not a stitch of boy's clothes. Mom tried. She bought "anything boy" at a local clothing store but all of it was too big. Your sister had a boy doll with a sailor's suit on it so guess what you wore until I could shop? You had a head full of black hair that curled and stuck up in various places. It was as soft and silky as a kitten's ear. At about 1 year of age you grew bored with the black hair and began to grow platinum blonde underneath. Eventually your whole head was blonde. At last, you settled for brown hair as your final hair color. Your eyes were a beautiful blue changing to a beautiful green at about age 12.
You amazed me with your brilliance. As a newborn you would stare intently at things, studying them, figuring them out. When you were 10 months old you took the wind up TV toy, jack-in-the-box, and other toys that were in your crib, and built stairs and climbed out of your crib. And remember when you were 4 and realized that a butter knife could double as a screwdriver? But the most amazing part was when I said, "Now put the doorknob back together and my iron too". And you did. Perfectly! I didn't expect it.
You grew into a fine gentleman and I say with pride that you were a mama's boy. I know you loved and adored me and you knew that I loved and adored you. We had a friendship, not just a parent/child relationship. I tried to be your father too. I remember the teen years: You in your room suddenly shouting "Mom come see! Hurry!" My heart dropped as I wondered what horrible thing had occurred. I rushed to your room to see you pointing to the TV. "Isn't that the finest girl you've ever seen?" As time passed, I learned how to comment on a "fine girl". I miss those mother-father/son moments. You were very protective of me and I know that you couldn't stand to see me suffer. You had a good and loving heart. That's probably why it got broken a lot. You just could not seem to find "the one". But you had 2 gorgeous children that you loved and adored. They brought you great pride. And they loved and adored their daddy so much. You had a way with children. Even the shyest baby would be giggling in a short time when you interacted with them.
You were real smart and could figure things out. I loved that I would ask you to fix something and you would do it immediately. Your friends would bring their cars for you to fix. You knew electronics, computers, air conditioning, automotive...so many things. You could do anything you set your mind to. And you loved to cook, especially for your lady friends. You also loved playing darts competitively. I remember you telling me how your team had won and you showing me a trophy. Sorry that I didn't show more interest. You were fun to be around and one friend described you as "down to earth". You were passionately crazy about the New Orleans Saints. Buying Christmas presents for you was easy-anything Saints. For your funeral I had everyone wear Saints apparel. You would have loved that!
We spoke on the phone every day. Occasionally we'd skip a day. That Monday, the 5th of March, as I was cooking dinner, I suddenly blurted out loud, " I haven't heard from Adam today!" Your sister was visiting and said, "Call him". I said I would call you later, squelching that panicky feeling and remembering our conversation the day before. I told you that I had appointments and tests scheduled that Monday and I realized that you were just giving me a chance to recuperate. You were always considerate that way. I planned on calling you in the morning and I wanted to ask you what I should bring for you when I came to visit in 5 days. But you didn't answer.
The coroner listed the official death date as Tuesday, March 6, 2018 but I know that you died that Monday, the 5th. A mother knows. The mother and child spirits are connected by an invisible umbilical cord that was, and never will be, severed. As a mother, I will never "heal" or "get over it" because a part of me is in another place, having been brought there by this invisible umbilical cord. As miraculous as the creation of life and giving birth is, so is the deep attachment of mother and child that reaches beyond the grave and actually has the mother partially in another realm. It is an almost secret place that only a grieving mother knows and is hard to describe, just as her grief is hard to describe. I have grieved for my mother, my best friend, my fur babies, but this grief for you Adam, my baby, does not fit the word 'grief'. It is much bigger and deeper than that, extending beyond the world and universe and the knowledge of grief known to man, into a place that only I can touch and yet do not want to. As it was in the beginning, just you and I, it is in death too.....just you and I.
You were born one month early, the smallest of my babies and the last of my babies, my only son. Mom and I had decorated the nursery in pink and white eyelet and had not a stitch of boy's clothes. Mom tried. She bought "anything boy" at a local clothing store but all of it was too big. Your sister had a boy doll with a sailor's suit on it so guess what you wore until I could shop? You had a head full of black hair that curled and stuck up in various places. It was as soft and silky as a kitten's ear. At about 1 year of age you grew bored with the black hair and began to grow platinum blonde underneath. Eventually your whole head was blonde. At last, you settled for brown hair as your final hair color. Your eyes were a beautiful blue changing to a beautiful green at about age 12.
You amazed me with your brilliance. As a newborn you would stare intently at things, studying them, figuring them out. When you were 10 months old you took the wind up TV toy, jack-in-the-box, and other toys that were in your crib, and built stairs and climbed out of your crib. And remember when you were 4 and realized that a butter knife could double as a screwdriver? But the most amazing part was when I said, "Now put the doorknob back together and my iron too". And you did. Perfectly! I didn't expect it.
You grew into a fine gentleman and I say with pride that you were a mama's boy. I know you loved and adored me and you knew that I loved and adored you. We had a friendship, not just a parent/child relationship. I tried to be your father too. I remember the teen years: You in your room suddenly shouting "Mom come see! Hurry!" My heart dropped as I wondered what horrible thing had occurred. I rushed to your room to see you pointing to the TV. "Isn't that the finest girl you've ever seen?" As time passed, I learned how to comment on a "fine girl". I miss those mother-father/son moments. You were very protective of me and I know that you couldn't stand to see me suffer. You had a good and loving heart. That's probably why it got broken a lot. You just could not seem to find "the one". But you had 2 gorgeous children that you loved and adored. They brought you great pride. And they loved and adored their daddy so much. You had a way with children. Even the shyest baby would be giggling in a short time when you interacted with them.
You were real smart and could figure things out. I loved that I would ask you to fix something and you would do it immediately. Your friends would bring their cars for you to fix. You knew electronics, computers, air conditioning, automotive...so many things. You could do anything you set your mind to. And you loved to cook, especially for your lady friends. You also loved playing darts competitively. I remember you telling me how your team had won and you showing me a trophy. Sorry that I didn't show more interest. You were fun to be around and one friend described you as "down to earth". You were passionately crazy about the New Orleans Saints. Buying Christmas presents for you was easy-anything Saints. For your funeral I had everyone wear Saints apparel. You would have loved that!
We spoke on the phone every day. Occasionally we'd skip a day. That Monday, the 5th of March, as I was cooking dinner, I suddenly blurted out loud, " I haven't heard from Adam today!" Your sister was visiting and said, "Call him". I said I would call you later, squelching that panicky feeling and remembering our conversation the day before. I told you that I had appointments and tests scheduled that Monday and I realized that you were just giving me a chance to recuperate. You were always considerate that way. I planned on calling you in the morning and I wanted to ask you what I should bring for you when I came to visit in 5 days. But you didn't answer.
The coroner listed the official death date as Tuesday, March 6, 2018 but I know that you died that Monday, the 5th. A mother knows. The mother and child spirits are connected by an invisible umbilical cord that was, and never will be, severed. As a mother, I will never "heal" or "get over it" because a part of me is in another place, having been brought there by this invisible umbilical cord. As miraculous as the creation of life and giving birth is, so is the deep attachment of mother and child that reaches beyond the grave and actually has the mother partially in another realm. It is an almost secret place that only a grieving mother knows and is hard to describe, just as her grief is hard to describe. I have grieved for my mother, my best friend, my fur babies, but this grief for you Adam, my baby, does not fit the word 'grief'. It is much bigger and deeper than that, extending beyond the world and universe and the knowledge of grief known to man, into a place that only I can touch and yet do not want to. As it was in the beginning, just you and I, it is in death too.....just you and I.
