Friday, May 5, 2017


Dear Jacob,

I found myself on our front porch tonight. It's the first evening it feels warm enough to sit outside in tank top, shorts and bare feet. It's a familiar place looking out over our neighborhood street, chatting with a passing neighbor, and hearing distance voices and laughter. I like to bring my laptop out here, browse the Internet and blog. I can hear the sound of your buzzing monitor as if it were just yesterday it was sitting on the table next to me. I knew what every little sound meant on that monitor, and very seldom did I have to look on the screen to know if you were awake or asleep. I knew the ins and outs of your breaths when you were awake, and when you were asleep.

Tonight, I am taking in the crab apple tree to the left of me. This tree has been with us since we moved in to this house. Our beautiful tree now has a disease, and the recommendation is that we cut it down. The tree guy took me by surprise when he told me the tree had to go. I was hoping for a magical spray to take care of the dead branches and sad looking tree. I had to search for words, and then gathered my thoughts and quickly asked: "are you sure there is nothing you can do to save the tree?" He shook his head, and very quickly went into why he didn't think your tree could survive. I shut the door, and thought that there must be another tree guy who still think there is a way to save our tree.

I took a step in to the house, and started to reflect why it hit me so hard. It's a tree with a history. The tree is a part of our lives together. I have so many memories from getting your therapy mat and your pillows out on the front lawn under the apple tree. You would simply take in your surroundings while I was working or we would be doing therapy in the shade of the tree branches. We have also enjoyed endless times together on the front porch in the shade of the tree. I have been sitting with you on my lap, and once again taking a pictures of the blooming tree being the ultimate sign that spring had come once again. I also loved sitting on your couch in your room and having the view of pink flowers right outside your window. Many times we faced your chair towards the mountain, so you could take in the view.

When Sarah came home from school, I told her about the tree. She reacted the same way I did. It was her climbing tree when she grew up. It had taken lots of courage and many attempts to get to the top of that tree. Many times I had to run out to see how far she had climbed. A piece of her childhood was also tied to our apple tree.

We're still hoping for that miracle. That someone will be able to save our tree of memories.

A friend put this bow in memory of you right after you passed. I love seeing the green bow every time I turn in to our street.

As we enter May, there start to be daily memories of what we did exactly on certain days this time last year. By this time, you had broken your leg. Maybe not a big deal by itself, but it set you back as your lungs, kidneys and brain started to act up. Your body started to show signs of being very tired. I can to this day feel the knot I had in my stomach when I didn't know if you were in pain or not, when I didn't know what caused your pain, when I didn't know. We saw the subtle signs, but was hoping for that miracle. That miracle that things would be ok again. May is a busy month with end of school year activities, busy days at work, and other activities. It's a good balance, but I will remember to also find time to reflect on you and those precious, but sometimes so hard, last weeks of your life. It's time to find space and sit in that grief. It's unreal to me that we're in less than two months have been without you for a year. A year of "firsts" will be over, but that's all there truly is.There will never be a day when you're not filling my heart.

Sweet Jacob, I love you to the moon and back,


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