an open letter to my sweet, sweet Asher.

sigh.

oh, my sweet boy, i just love you so much.

i love your smile and your belly laugh and the way your eyes twinkle. i love your crazy hair and your goofy sense of humour. i love the fact that you're the "little spoon" at bedtime when we cuddle. i love our "travelling kisses" and how i don't know where you came up with that name, but when i kiss you on the cheek, you wipe it off and rub it on your chest and say "de butterflies are in my heart now, mommy." i love your hugs, or rather, i love how you run up and launch yourself at me and grab onto me and squeeze every bit of love in that heart of yours into my open arms... or my thigh... whatever you can reach at the time.

i love your strength. i love your courage. i love that you have survived so much and you carry on with so much light and joy. i love that you learned to say "guten tag" to dr w, and that you were thrilled to know that Kraftwerk (your favourite band) are german, too.

and as much as i hate to admit it...

i love your scars.

honestly, littlest man, i think they're beautiful. they tell a story. they tell your story. each scar, from the tiniest IV scars on your hands to the zippers all over your torso, each one is a badge of honour from yet another battle you survived.

but oh, my littlest man, i hate

hate!!!


that you have had to go through all of this. the surgeries and the appointments and the caths and the tests and the IVs and the intubations and the broken ribs and the admissions...

i think of your broken heart,

and my heart breaks.

i know all this is hard for you. believe me, i know. i've seen it in your eyes. i've heard it in your voice.

i'm glad you're so strong. and i'm glad you know that mommy is always right there with you, fighting this horrible battle alongside you. and when you're tired and weak, i'll fight for you. i promise.

but that being said...

i've told you before... during a couple brutal admissions... sigh...

if you ever get too weak and tired...

and you just. can't. do it anymore...

i'll understand.

i've had to let you go so many times already. it's not right. no one should ever have to let go of the child they brought into this world. but i've done it. i've handed you over to strangers, and ultimately, i have handed you over to God.

the thought of losing you haunts me more than you will ever know.

the thought of losing you hurts me more than you will ever know.

i don't want to lose you.

i don't want to lose you i don't want to lose you i don't want to lose you i don't want to lose you.

and honestly, the way you live your day-to-day life, i probably won't any time soon. and that makes me happy. that heals me and holds me and carries me through. and i know that it does the same for you.

you're a beautiful person, little man. you're like... gloopy globs of glitter glue smeared across the shiny side of crumpled tin foil. that's how sparkly and shiny you are. you're the painting i hang on the fridge, the stickers on your shoes, and the night light that scares away the monsters under the bed.

please stick around for a long time...

because those monsters under the bed are nasty.