The first time I saw Zachary after his death was difficult. It was the beginning of family visitation at his wake. I had told my family I wanted to have a few moments with Zachary alone. When I slowly walked up to his resting place, his eternal cradle, my heart began to weep. I went absolutely numb, not aware if I was even breathing. There lay my precious little boy. I wanted to grab him and hold onto him forever. I couldnīt even touch him.
At his funeral, I read out aloud a poem I had written to him while I was nine months pregnant. It was hard to listen to people recall the memories they had of my son, yet, it was refreshing as well. It proved to me he had touched other peopleīs lives, and so many other people loved him. That was important to me.
It has been over four years since I lost my son. The hurt has weakened, but the ache to touch him, to love and care for him, is still alive in me. I sometimes wonder what my life would be like now, had he survived. Although the pain will never go away, with time I have been able to accept what happened. I do not know that answers as to why this happened, but have come to terms with this tragedy.
I was lucky. I was able to spend ten weeks with someone who has taught me about life, love, and mothering. I was able to hold Zachary in my arms and care for him. I cuddled with him and played with him. I was his comfort when he was ill, and after he awoke in recovery from his surgery. Zachary was spared countless surgeries and out-of-state trips for appointments with medical specialists. He was never teased or bullied or made to feel he was less than perfect. He never saw hate, or hurt, or heartbreak. All Zachary knew was happiness and love. That is how I have found peace.
(as told by a friend, part 3)
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