Reminders

It has been a month. I don't know if it feels like it all happened just yesterday, or if it feels like a lifetime ago--sometimes both, I guess. But it's been a month. A month. A month since I saw those eyes. A month since I held that sweet little body in my arms. A month without hope.
My world came to a screeching halt that day. Everything that ever meant anything smashed into the wall of time and broke into a million pieces, scattering around like leaves. Have you ever watched one of those movies where, when something big happens, the whole scene freezes, and the camera sort of circles the main character, while everything around her looms in strange stillness? It seems as if I'm stuck in that frame. This fuzzy, dark, dizzying stillness consumes my world now, especially today, as my mind replays the horrors of my sweet baby's last moments.
I will go to his grave today. I think I will bring him a gift, something he would have liked to play with at 3 1/2 months. I will tell him I miss him. I will tell him stories about his daddy making songs on his guitar. I will ask him how his new home is, and smile as I think of his cousin Morgan and friend Ella's innocent concern for him and simple understanding of his new heavenly home. I will have to leave him again. I will have to say goodbye and walk away, another reminder that the world does indeed go on despite the stillness that consumes me.
Gary and I have gotten several beautiful gifts to remind us of his precious life. His mom got him a keychain engraved with the words CARTER'S DAD. It has a place to put a picture. Jenny gave me a charm bracelet with three charms: a cross, a mother and baby, and a baby shoe engraved with his name and birthdate. I wear it each day, along with my locket. It's my way of keeping him close to me.
Today will come and go, just like that terrible day that forever changed my heart, my viewpoint, and my very being. A new day will come, and life will go on. But, if you get a chance, think of him today. Think back to the moment you met him, or first heard his story. Think of his smile, his sweet personality, his amazing ability to light up a room.
My beautiful Carter, I think of you constantly. I love you so very much. I know you are happy and healthy now, laughing and playing with the angels. I will hold you forever in my heart, sweet baby. You gave me true joy, do you know that? Do you know how precious and perfect you are? Do you know that you melted my heart with that ornery little smirk, those bright and inquisitive eyes, and your adorable babytalk? I miss you so much, but I'm trying not to be sad. You are in heaven, and Mommy and Daddy will see you again. For now, we will have to settle for these talks. I cannot wait to hear your stories, to know what you're doing up there. I imagine you perched someplace where you can see everything around you, kicked back and comfy. Every now and then you probably call out to someone passing by--a girl perhaps--with your Joey-style "how you doin?" You used to sit that way and talk to the nurses. I know they miss you, too. We all do. You be good up there--mind your manners, help out wherever you can, and have fun. I'll talk to you again soon. I love you.