Wow. Three years. My son has been gone for THREE years. I can't believe it. And I feel guilty. I feel guilty because this last year I haven't cried as much as I used to. I haven't lived in absolute sadness. Maybe I'm healing. Maybe I'm FORGETTING. I don't want to forget.
I don't want to forget the first time I held him. The feeling of absolute unconditional love. I don't want to forget his first smile, laugh, his first steps, his irrational fear of the vacuum cleaner and his light up shoes. I don't want to forget the years of happiness, his triumphs. I don't want to forget how happy he was when he completed his speech therapy, his love for his cowboy boots and pearl snap shirts. His love for God, his brothers, his family, his animals. He loved to draw and wanted to be a mechanic when he grew up. He loved horror movies and being scared; it made him laugh to be scared. He LOVED Kenny Chesney but his absolute favorite song was Lynyrd Skynyrd's Free Bird.
I feel like I should be sad remembering all these wonderful things but I am not. I'm guilty because I should be screaming and crying and cursing God, but I'm not. I smile. My son is with me. He's been with me. And he will always be with me. I love you Codey Drake.
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