Numbers

It may sound odd, but numbers and grief seem to go together.  And once a number is associated with a death, it will forever have that association.  27...Brady's birthday/angelversary...14...Henry's birthday...11:11...the time Tim almost daily glances at the clock, which corresponds to the day Henry was diagnosed with leukemia...and the number weighing on my mind today...22...Henry's angelversary.

That means today we've lived another whole month longer than Henry did.  It means that 14 months ago today, I held my baby boy as he took his last breath.  In some ways that doesn't sound long at all...14 months...just over a year.  Yet in other ways it seems like an eternity.  It's been 14 months that my heart, arms, and sometimes even my life, have felt empty.  It's been 14 months of wishing I could snuggle that sweet boy just one more time.  It's been 14 months of wondering what our silly Henry would be up to now...what would he be able to do?  It's also been 14 months of spreading Henry's legacy of love and hope, and being an advocate for childhood cancer awareness.

Thankfully, over the last 14 months, the pain has dulled.  It is no longer all-consuming, constant stabbing pain.  Rather, it is more of a dull ache...sharper at times, but mostly tolerable.  I no longer picture Henry as the swollen baby, hooked up to machines...the baby I feared would live in my memory forever.  Rather, I see him as a vibrant little thing...smiling and laughing...loving and living.  I've said it before, and I'll say it again, I am forever grateful for the six months we had with Henry...the six months where he was our world...the six months where I don't even have one missed moment I regret.

So it's true, these numbers stick in our heads and our hearts as we grieve.  But it isn't these numbers that hold meaning.  It's the number of smiles, of hugs, of laughs, of good times...those are the numbers that matter.