It seemed like a bad dream. It still seems like a dream. A nightmare. I keep hoping to wake up, and find he's still alive. Even though he was not blood to me, he was family, as close as family can be. I was there when he was born, and I can't but help remember how tiny and strong he was when I held him then. And compare that to the fragile thing, covered in tubes. He was only 11 months old. He died before he had a chance to live.
His death is an injustice. It stands as proof that there is something very wrong with this world. I, for one, have never believed death to be a natural part of life. But it still effects everyone.
I wish that I had seen him more while he was alive. I know his mother feels the same. I can't imagine how much pain she must be in, if my pain is so great that I can hardly breathe.
Still, I will strive to remember how he was before that day at the hospital. Smiling. Happy. Strong. And for those of you reading this, take a moment. Appreciate your loved ones. Your family and your friends. Know that you are blessed to have them with you.
