We find ourselves going about our day, telling ourselves that you're just in the other room. Sleeping, playing, harassing your brothers etc...but once we realize the cold hard fact that you've indeed gone onto a "better" place, the emptiness we feel is down right sickening. You're pictures help...they help to remind us of just how precious the gift of "you" was. That kool-aid smile. That "trouble makin" look in your eye. That pink nose. That beautiful little face. All the love you gave. All of it lives on in your pictures, and in our memory.
It's not enough.
I need more than a memory. I dont care how long it's been since you've been here. I'll always want more. We want more time with you. It's just not fair. I'll never consider it "fair". I know we did the right thing for you...but I still ask myself if it was the right decision. I know you couldn't breath, but what IF your condition went from good to bad so fast because of that little spill you took off the counter?
FUCK YOU "WHAT IF"!
The day we got your ashes back, I thought I was going to be ok. I thought that once we had you back in our house, in any form, would be a way to further heal. I was wrong. I cried on our way to get you. I cried once we had you. I cried when we brought you in the house and put you in your spot. I cry when I look at the box. I just can't help it. You should be at home, with your family...not in a box...but there. In our house. Running a muck like you loved to do. Haven't been able to bring ourselves to take you outta the box that's holding a little heart with your ashes inside. I feel like we have to keep you there, to keep you safe.
We miss you, Gooey. Words can't even describe it.
I sleep with your blanket, every night. Tucked in next to my belly, where you used to cuddle up to me. It's not the same...but when I sleep with it, I can picture you kneading on it, and purrin that cute lil purr. Ohh, fat man doo...I miss you. I love you always, my little guy.
Come see me, soon.