Daily Post

Blogging 101 Challenge : publish a post for your dream reader, and include a new-to-you element in it (Post 3 of 3 in this series).

I pushed away the doctor’s recommendations. “It isn’t time,” I said. I couldn’t bring myself to accept the truth of what my eyes were seeing. I did everything. Then you said, “No more.” You refused your medications, and soon there was no denying the truth.

I held on because I couldn’t let go.

Six months after our last conversation with the doctor, I made the call. You were always most at rest in my arms even on the worse days and I wanted to be there holding you. I wanted you to feel loved as you finally found the peace your body sought.

I had no idea what it would be like. It was not peaceful. The sedation confused and frightened you. Things happened as if in slow motion. I was in a hell of my own making. Unable to stop the suffocating avalanche bearing down on us, all I could do was hold you. Try to calm and comfort you as best I could, and let you know you were loved and not alone.

I hope you remember my arms around you, the stroke of my hand against your face, the loving touch of your dad, and my voice as I sang softly to you. I pray those are the last things you remember from that day. I pray the memories of me, your dad, and our family are with you now and that your days are filled with joy. I hope the sounds of the laughter remind you of us.

Above all other gifts, you sweet, sweet Cooper were the most precious I ever received.

I always tried doing what was best for you. I realize on that day, I failed and I will forever regret my actions. It should have been on your terms, when you decided. Curled up together on the sofa, I could’ve held you, sung softly, and you would’ve known peace, love and gentle parting.

 I will never make that mistake again. Your precious sister, who misses you terribly, is well, happy, and safe.

Things will be different for Piper. When the time comes, she will tell me. I will wrap my arms around her in love, and remember you, I promise.

Saying I’m sorry isn’t enough, but you deserved at least that much. We loved you more than these few words can say, and I want you to know Cooper, you were, a delight to have in our lives. We will never forget the way you hated to have your picture taken, loved boating and fishing, or the excitement you brought to Christmas.

 

For twelve years you gave us unconditional love and more joy than I’ve ever known. I am forever grateful and humbled to have had the privilege to be your human mom.

I will love you always,

Mom