And here I sit, at 4:30 in the morning, unable to sleep.  Unable to allow myself the simple escape for a few hours.  It’s what my body and mind want and need more than anything, but sleep just does not come.

I’ve been a terrible mother the past three days.  So bad that I hardly know where he’s been or what he’s done.  Family and friends stepped in to take the reins as soon as we arrived.  My sister making sure he had a new pair of pajamas (‘Ickey Mouse, Augusta’s favorite), wipes, and Plups.  My mom finding childcare for the first day.  And the two of them arranging to watch him into the evening.  And yesterday, an old friend coming over at 8:30 and incorporating Robbie into her day until my sister could relieve her. 

I know snip-its of what he’s done.  And that he’s been the best little boy.  He clings to me when I have a few moments at home before moving on to the next thing.  Peppering my face with kisses, giving me strong hugs.  Telling me, “Happy, Mama.”  Wrapping himself around my body when I try to let him go.  Tonight before I tried to go to bed myself, I went up and just watched him sleep.  Grateful that we have him to pull us out of our mourning and grief.

Yesterday continued to be difficult.  Finding the perfect outfit.  Selecting the perfect site.  It’s  beautiful, by the way.  Shaded by trees, a beautiful view. 

Going into the apartment was the most difficult; it feels like such an invasion of privacy.  My sister-in-law and I brought back pictures for the boys, some they had never seen in albums long forgotten.  And that helped.  When Justin and I stopped by to grab a few more pictures for the reception tomorrow, the phone rang.  We both froze, unsure of what to do.  Finally, I answered just in case it was someone who didn’t know she had passed.

There was only silence when I answered.  A few seconds later, an automated voice said simply, “Good bye.”  And disconnected.  In near tears, I unplugged the phone.  After all, the message was pretty clear.

I broke down this afternoon to a bewildered Justin.  I’ve tried not to, only crying when the pain of seeing him so overcome with grief was too much to contain.  But today I cried for me.  It helped.  Some.  But not enough.  It won’t be enough for a long, long time.

Thank you for being with me during this time.  For allowing me to process in writing, the only way I can truly feel settled.  Well, as settled as anyone can feel during a time like this.

The funeral is today.  Our private visitation starts in a mere five hours.  Regular visitation will be from 11:00-1:00, with the service starting at 1:00 at Immanuel Baptist Church.  3100 Tates Creek Road in Lexington.  Please continue keeping us in your prayers.  We have  been blessed by the ones you have sent and truly need them to get through this.


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