All 3 of my children were born on the first of day of the month. The girls in May and Erik in September. I think it's kind of odd that not only were they born on the first, they were born within 30 minutes of each other. Kaitlyn was first at 9:46 p.m., then Erik at 9:55 p.m. and then Sienna at 10:16 p.m. Ironic, huh?
Anyway - as we celebrated the girls' birthday yesterday, I couldn't help but be sad too because in exactly 4 months, I should be celebrating Erik's 7th birthday. Well, let me rephrase that, we will be celebrating, but not the way that I would like to celebrate. It has been almost 18 months since I kissed my son goodbye and it hasn't gotten any easier. I'm having more good days than bad, but it still hurts just like it was yesterday. I can only imagine his excitement for his sister's turning another year older. I remember him on their first birthday and he was so happy to have them as his sisters. I can only imagine the fun they would be having now - especially considering one of his sisters would rather play with monster trucks than baby dolls! I'm sure that Sienna and Erik would've be inseparable. They are so much alike that it's kinda scary at times.
Because I have so much "thinking" time on my hands, I was thinking the other day about the 18 month anniversary coming up. I find it very weird that the girls were 18.5 months old when Erik died and when the 18 month anniversary rolls around on May 15, they will have aged 18.5 more months. It breaks my heart that on that day, they will have lived half of their life without their big brother. It breaks my heart that the 3 of them aren't growing up together. That's the way it should be. I should be the mother of 3 living children. I shouldn't have to explain my story to people when they ask how many kids I have. I shouldn't have to tell them the story of how my son lost his life. I shouldn't have to start a conversation about Erik with "I'm sure you probably remember the little boy who was killed in that freak 4 wheeler accident back in November, 2009" and I shouldn't have to finish that conversation with "yep, that was my boy". I tear up every single time I start that conversation. I can talk about Erik all day long, but when someone new asks me about the day he died, I'm a crying mess.
Over the weekend, I picked up my old hobby of scrapbooking again. I had forgotten how much I enjoy doing it. I'm hoping that it can become a regular thing I do again because I sure did enjoy myself. Right now, I am working on Erik's scrapbook. I had started it a long time ago, but life and kids got in the way and I stopped working on it. I had a few pages completed already, but they were from Erik's first few days. Looking back at those pictures makes it seem like it was a million years ago, but at the same time, I can instantly remember the way I felt when I first laid my eyes on him. I can remember his smell and how soft his skin was. I can remember the love I had for him as soon as his sweet little body was put on my chest. It was in that instant that I knew I would die for another human being. I can also remember Erik having a little bit of trouble breathing and the doctor not being able to hand him right to me after he was born. Is it ironic that I wasn't the first to hold my son when he took his first breath and wasn't even there when he took his last? (I'm full of irony's today!) It breaks my heart thinking about that. He came into the world with people working to help him breath and went out in the exact same way.
I told y'all I have too much thinking time!