440 days.



 I am in the last stages of cleaning the bedroom my daughter shared with her medically fragile son Harper. She shared a room in my home with him because this is where they needed to be. We didn't make him a nursery in another room because she didn't want to be out of his sight. Now looking back, I know even if he'd been perfectly healthy, she still would have chosen for that to be the case. Their bond, and love was instant-like nothing I had ever witnessed. I was truly privileged to see these 2 lives intertwined.  









In Harper's room, there are reminders at every turn.  I dealt with this same sort of thing last weekend while cleaning my own room. Tiny socks, blankets, outfits and medical supplies. Literally seem to pop out at me from every nook and cranny. It's almost as if he's playing peek-a-boo with me. But THIS room. It's the one where we took turns for countless hours holding him, rocking him, bathing him (which he hated so he always peed on us, and we would wind up laughing over poor crying Harper. But God always provided those laughs when we needed them most). This is the room where he had few precious visitors,  but the ones who were meant to meet him came. The room where his grandpa rocked him too when he stopped by after work to visit. The room where there was the constant hum of the oxygen machine-the machine that I thought we would never get used to, but the one that we had a hard time sleeping without once it was gone. This room. Harper's room.  Special gifts to him still hang on the walls.  Some of his most treasured, used and worn things line the dresser drawers, because letting go of them is too painful still. I know he isn't those "things", but I have fond memories of when he received them, used or wore them. One day, or maybe not, the time will come to let go, even while still holding on. 







I know I am not alone. There are others like me. It may be a grandchild, child, parent, spouse or siblings, the grief is so present. Sometimes all consuming, some days giving us a much needed break. You would think time would lessen the pain, but it only lessens the days I feel it so sharply that it gives me chest pains. 440 days. That's how long it's been since we've held our sweet Angel baby Harper in our arms, but time has no limits on how long we will hold him in our hearts. That love can't be measured. 




I love ya'll~
Rhonda~

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