To Isaiah, 1/18/02-5/27/07
My sweet Starshine,
Every time I try to write you, every time I do write you,
I find myself overwhelmed, a painful ache in my lungs
and tears in my eyes.
I miss all of you, your world’s widest smile and your
excited shriek, but most deeply, I miss the hot press
of you against my chest in the night, after reading
stories of trucks, after singing silly songs, after
endless rocking. There was always a moment when you
finally gave in to sleep, when you tucked your head
into my breast, wrapped your arms around my neck and
tangled your hands so thoroughly in my curls that later,
after I’d woken, I had to untangle us like a knot.
And then in the morning, you would call me awake
with one long “Maaaaaam.” After you died, I used to
still hear you calling, hear the feeding pump beeping.
Thankfully, through the gift of dreams, I was able to
hold you close again and let you go more peacefully.
I have always wanted to say I’m sorry, sorry that I was
so young, my voice so untested when you were born - that
if I had been wiser, more assured, I would have brought
you home that first week and held you to me until your
heart came quietly to rest and we could have avoided the
medical years that followed. But then of course, the world
would have been different, I would be different than who
I am today, and I would not truly change the gift your five
years gave to so many, the ways of living and loving and
dying you taught me and I truly could not have loved you more.
Thank you, my sweet.
Your brother has changed his name twice since you
died, from Joey to Jos to Cutter. He’s been Cutter
for a long time now. I’m learning how he misses you,
in his games and with his friends and in his questions.
He wonders what new name you might have chosen. We both
guess it would have been Thomas after your favorite
engine. He asks if I think you would like Nerf battles,
if you would like his newest video games and his closest
friends- I almost always say “Yes,” to his questions
because the two of you loved each other fiercely and
he’s trying to hold onto that, to hold onto to you,
in the ways he knows how.
When you were born, a bit small and a bit early, we
knew nothing of what lay ahead for you, for us. In
the hospital gift shop, your big brother bought a
gift for you, a plush sun that played “You are My
Sunshine.” When I was alone with you, I pulled the
cord to the play the song and I cried.
I knew you would never know how much I loved you
because even I didn’tknow. How could I know that
I would love you so much that I would listen to
your heart slow and stop, that I would love you
so much that I would know peace in your death.
All that, and I still could not carry you down
the stairs to that black van. Your dad did
that for all of us.
Your ashes have sat on the shelf in the closet for three
years now. I feel the time approach when I will plunge
my hands into them, when I will shape and scatter and
free you of what restraints remain. There are so many
trains you didn’t see, so many journeys you didn’t take,
so many hurts I couldn’t prevent - but this I can do for you,
my sweet.
I can send you far from me, along the tracks you so
loved, because you are always near, in dandelions and the
light blue sky, in sign language and construction sites,
in the brown of your father’s eyes and the gap of your
brother’s teeth, in pizza and in peanut m&ms and always,
always in my heart.
I love you,
Mom
