One whole year.
It's amazing that it's been a full year without you, Aaron. At 12:44, one year ago today, your tiny heart that struggled so much to beat under all the fluid you had retained since your surgery almost 2 weeks earlier, finally stopped. You were in your mother's arms at that moment. I was bent over you, sobbing, with so much of your family gathered around, sending you off.
I know it's probably hard to believe, but the morning you died contained both the single worst, and greatest moments of my life. We lost you, but when you squeezed my finger that morning, right after I told you I loved you, I was so elated. That squeeze had purpose, and meaning, and I don't care what anyone says - you were responding to me. I know in my heart that if you could have spoken in that moment you would have. But since you couldn't, you squeezed my finger twice to say "I love you too, Dad."
Since that day, your mother and I have struggled very hard with our grief - at times nearly losing ourselves to it, and in it. But your grandparents, aunts, uncles, great-grandparents, cousins, and others have never let us slip too far. You would have been such a lucky little boy if you'd made it, Aaron. So many people were ready to love you, and so many people still do.
Since that day, we've also struggled very hard to honor and remember you in ways that will let other people know about you. Your mother has spoken several times to groups about pre-eclampsia and premature birth. We've organized a very successful March of Dimes team. We've collected gifts for the children's ward at the hospital. Throughout the last year, everything we've done, everything we've said, and everything we've stood for has been done with one thought in the back of our minds - "How can we honor our son in this? How can we be an example, for him?"
I hope we've succeeded. I hope something, anything really, positive came out of our losing you.
I love you, Aaron. I love my son, and I'm very proud of you for the short time you were here. You fought so hard. Harder than I ever did for anything. I only hope I can make you proud of me.
Love,
Daddy
It's amazing that it's been a full year without you, Aaron. At 12:44, one year ago today, your tiny heart that struggled so much to beat under all the fluid you had retained since your surgery almost 2 weeks earlier, finally stopped. You were in your mother's arms at that moment. I was bent over you, sobbing, with so much of your family gathered around, sending you off.
I know it's probably hard to believe, but the morning you died contained both the single worst, and greatest moments of my life. We lost you, but when you squeezed my finger that morning, right after I told you I loved you, I was so elated. That squeeze had purpose, and meaning, and I don't care what anyone says - you were responding to me. I know in my heart that if you could have spoken in that moment you would have. But since you couldn't, you squeezed my finger twice to say "I love you too, Dad."
Since that day, your mother and I have struggled very hard with our grief - at times nearly losing ourselves to it, and in it. But your grandparents, aunts, uncles, great-grandparents, cousins, and others have never let us slip too far. You would have been such a lucky little boy if you'd made it, Aaron. So many people were ready to love you, and so many people still do.
Since that day, we've also struggled very hard to honor and remember you in ways that will let other people know about you. Your mother has spoken several times to groups about pre-eclampsia and premature birth. We've organized a very successful March of Dimes team. We've collected gifts for the children's ward at the hospital. Throughout the last year, everything we've done, everything we've said, and everything we've stood for has been done with one thought in the back of our minds - "How can we honor our son in this? How can we be an example, for him?"
I hope we've succeeded. I hope something, anything really, positive came out of our losing you.
I love you, Aaron. I love my son, and I'm very proud of you for the short time you were here. You fought so hard. Harder than I ever did for anything. I only hope I can make you proud of me.
Love,
Daddy
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Love, Mom W