…If I saw you in heaven…

Every year around this time I am reminded of one terrible, horrible, amazingly painful truth –

kids die.

They do. 

Now, I am fortunate to have been blessed in my family.   While we have had the occasional miscarriage and even painfully unsure births (my cousin’s son is doing very well actually) we have not suffered loss.

Not of a kid.

At least not yet.

And that’s what gets me.  Every. fucking. time.

And don’t get me wrong.  I refuse to live my life in fear.  I refuse to always wonder, and suffocate while trying to protect. 

But this time every year – I am reminded:

That kids get sick.  Kids get sicker.  And kids die.

And it’s not fair.  But truly, there’s not much that is in this life.

And I have mentioned before that the one thing that people didn’t warn me about is the fact that after you have kids, every child is your child.

Every horrible story about child abuse.

Every lost child.

Every sick and dying child.

Wears your child’s face.

And there but for the grace of…Well, it could easily be you, me, us.

And so I promise every year that I will face this fear straight on and volunteer, walk and in some way DO SOMETHING to help.  To assist.  To prevent.

And I will. 

But it won’t be this year.  Because this year, I am working on adding another child to my family.

But next year, we all walk.  All 5 of us. 

The whole famn damily.

In other news?

We got a puppy.  His name is Milo.

He will be walking too.

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2 thoughts on “…If I saw you in heaven…

  1. I can’t even count the number of times I’ve woken from that nightmare — the one where something happens to one or both of my sons. Sometimes I’m not even sleeping when they come. Sometimes I’m just watching them play and the most amazingly gruesome images race through my head. And I am at once grateful that what I’ve seen is just my overactive imagination and crushed by the fact that what I just imagined has actually happened to some child, somewhere at some time.
    Oh, and welcome Milo.

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