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Thursday, April 21, 2011

David Henry Hillis

David Henry Hillis
Born May 11th, 2010 - Passed away January 24th, 2011
Ohio, USA

To my sweet Capt Snuggles,

David Henry, this is a hard letter to write. I wish that it was a rambling account of how things are this year, historical facts to remember , events to recount for when you grow old. But therein lies the problem. I write this letter because I know in my heart of hearts - you will never grow old. Those words rip out my heart and make me weep. I am at a loss on how to say goodbye.

Can I be honest with you? I was devastated when I learned I was pregnant again. Your dad and I, we were on the verge of divorce. We agreed to ""try and work things out"" - that's code for we had sex and I got pregnant. I know, I know - your delicate ears don't want to hear such talk from your mama, but I want you to understand, no matter how I felt before you were born - I loved you completely when you arrived.

You were beautiful, such a head of hair! The dark color was deceiving, you were hiding all that red until we took to the sun and then you were breath-taking. We did a lot in those first 3 months in spite of the weekly doctors appointments and the mandated round the clock feedings. Your brothers were so in love with you - they argued about who got to hold you first.

Jacob won, of course - his is your oldest little brother and he adored you. He even learned to change your diaper, he was quite proficient for being only 7 years old.

Jonathan always wanted to sit with me when you took your bottle, he would try and hold the bottle for you, but you had to have the bottle just so and we ended up making a mess. Regardless, he was always concerned about you and your bottles.

And then there was Zachary, he loved to bring you toys, pile them on you, as a matter of fact. Sometimes I would find the oddest things stacked up in your little bouncy chair besides you. He always had a toy for 'baby'.

We went so many places during those warm months. We took the big boys and your cousins bowling almost every week, sometimes twice. We ate lunch every day at the church - those church ladies just loved on you every chance they got. Miss Dodie called you her ""puddin' pie"", I know she will be heartbroken now that you're gone.

Many, many people are heart-broken that you're gone, none more so than I. I know, with absolute conviction, that I did the best I could for you. I know that the liver transplant was the only option at the hope for a normal life. I suppose that's what it came down to, a hope.

But even for all those months in the hospital, there were bright times. I treasure each and every time I got to rock you or hold you, or simply bathe you.

Every time you opened your eyes it elicited murmurs of delight from myself and all your faithful Chaperones. I know your lullabies are playing softly where ever your sweet soul is.

I enjoyed reading to you every chance I had and I can only hope Great-Grandma Demko finishes reading A House at Pooh Corner to you, since we had only just begun reading it.

I have to say goodbye to your body today, but not your spirit, never your spirit. My arms ache to hold you once more and my chest is full of the shards of my broken heart. These past 5 months have been a marathon, a marathon of love and devotion that so many people are amazed at. But I acted in the only way I knew how. To be with you, to nurture you, to be your mama in the same way I am mama to your siblings before you.

You are held in the hearts of so very many people. I shared you with the world and received love and support back ten-fold. Was your purpose to help one of these strangers? Was your purpose to help me?

Know that I love you more than these simple words can convey. I am honored that you chose me to be your mama. You will always be my Capt Snuggles.

1 Send Your Love Here:

Amy said...

Beautiful. Thank you.