Tomorrow would be Caleb's 7th birthday. I can't begin to put words to my feelings today. My imagination doesn't see Caleb at 7 and that is really tough. At his 5th birthday, I could still imagine who he would be, six was getting tougher, but seven I just can't get ahold of, and it bothers me. He would be going to 2nd grade; no longer a baby. Not even a little kid anymore. Just a kid. Riding a bike, playing ball. My heart breaks to think of what he never got to experience. I know that he would never had the same chances as other children. He was too sick. By dying and being forever healed he missed the torment and teasing of other children because he was different. He missed days, weeks, months in the hospital. But I miss him. He was a wonderful little guy. He was only here for 19 months, but those were wonderful scary months.
My pediatrician wouldn't let us sit in the waiting area like the other kids. He either had to get an exam room immediately, go sit in her office, or we would wait in the car. She was scared of what he would get just by being there. We weren't allowed to go to church or be anywhere there was much contact with people during cold and flu season (October to March). Greg's church never understood that. No one came to check on us during those days of confinement. Greg had to strip out of his clothes in the garage and come straight in and take a shower for fear of spreading germs. I was alone with Caleb to watch him play on the floor, watch Baby Einstein, read books, play with the dog.
We knew Caleb wasn't bound to be with us for long, but I never imagined he would be gone so fast. I knew in my heart that kindergarten would not happen for him. I knew I wouldn't see him to prom or get married. Yet I still dreamed of it.
Caleb visits us often in odd happenings at the house. He is remembered and loved everyday.
6 years ago