The desire of every bereaved heart: my loved one was important and remains so still today, two years or ten years later, regardless of their length of life. . .
(Clink on the link highlighted in red entitled “view original post” below to read the full article and “thelifeididntchoose” to access the blog.)
Sometimes this thought is what gets me through the day:
You existed, you exist.
Sometimes I say it to his photo on my phone:
You existed, you exist.
Sometimes I want to scream it out the window:
YOU EXISTED! YOU EXIST!
My son is not a number or a statistic or only a memory.
He is integral to my story, blood of my blood and flesh of my flesh–part of my life.
I rest assured he lives in heaven with Jesus but I miss him here with me. That’s selfish, I know. But I can’t seem to help it.
I don’t know how to be glad that my young, healthy, brilliant child died-just like that-here one moment, gone the next.
The broken heart of every parent who has buried a child cries out:
My child existed..
He lived.
He mattered.
My child exists still.
He lives.
He matters.
“Can…
View original post 19 more words
Boxx Banter 