Posted by Mommy on Sep 26, 2011 at 10:24 pm

I miss you, Muffin. Sometimes the simplest thing, like Katie sitting in your booster seat, breaks my heart. Everything feels wrong without you here. The hole where you aren’t is enormous. You are such a nice boy, and I hate having to wonder what you would have done or said today. I hate missing your hugs and kisses. I hate singing our songs by myself. Katie went to her first Sunday School class yesterday, and you weren’t there to sit with her. I hate missing you.

Posted by Poppy on Sep 9, 2011 at 6:00 pm

Hello Weeble,

I did not write to you before because I did not want to cause more sadness to your parents. I read letters from your Mommy and Daddy and Aunt Tricia a couple of times and just got sad myself.  I do miss you terribly.  There are lots of other grandchildren to love and a heart big enough for love for each of them but a very large Weeble sized and shaped chunk of this old heart went away.

I was raised for men not to cry but to “man up” to cover those emotions over but it does not work.

What really caused me to write today is that two days ago I was sitting in my rocker on the front porch, you know where you used to look out your window and call to Nanny and me.

I was alone, Nanny was inside doing something and suddenly there you were, in my face and kissing my head.

My belief tells me you cannot see us or communicate with us, you cannot be sad and seeing loved ones cry makes us sad.  But you did communicate with me if only in my day dream.

I went to your web page and read the latest letters from your Mom and Dad and felt so helpless. You know Poppy is Mr. Fix It but I cannot fix it.

Your Dad is my little boy and I love him very much and since he brought your Mom here I have come to love her like my daughter also.  So I know how broken they are and I cannot fix it.

I love you and I know how you loved me and I know we will resume right where we left off some day.

Posted by Daddy on Sep 7, 2011 at 11:44 pm

Weeble’s favorite song, in case he never told you, was probably one of a zillion children’s songs that he used to sing with Mommy: some conventional, such as “Jesus Loves Me,” and some Eckhardt originals, such as “I’m as Hungry as a Weeble.” His favorite commercially recorded song by far, though, was “Not Fade Away,” as recorded by Buddy Holly. Weeble always wagged his little feet to that song as he sat in his car seat, singing along to the background “bop bops.”

Buddy Holly would have been 75 today. While there’s certainly no “Rock ‘N’ Roll Heaven (you know they’ve got a Hell of a band,) there is a chance that another young boy who died WAY too early, this one from a church-going Baptist family from Lubbock, TX, was saved. If so, perhaps Buddy and Weeble have shared a few bop bops together in the Real World.

Happy birthday, Charles Hardin Holley. Thank you for the memories that Weeble and I share even across the gulf that divides us for a short time.

Posted by Daddy on at 11:58 am

One of the weebliest memories that just came to mind was the way that little guy would dance in front of the refrigerator after pressing the button on the front of the LeapFrog Fridge Wash & Go Magnetic Vehicle Set (item number 10197). If you have a little guy of your own, look into this cute toy! If you get one or have one, think of Weeb when you hear it. I sure do!

A big “thank you” to Katie, who is now dancing to the same tunes and in the same spot!

Posted by Mommy on Aug 25, 2011 at 7:11 pm

Weeble, it has been six months since our last full day with you. The last dinner I cooked for you. The pudding cup I let you have for dessert even though you didn’t finish your dinner. The last time I kissed you goodnight. I miss you more than I could ever try to express. ♥

Posted by Daddy on Aug 22, 2011 at 11:00 pm

If I could die 1,000 times in the most horrific ways known, and by doing so I could bring you back to your mother and siblings, I would begin right now, and try my hardest to be done by daybreak.  It would be a great disservice to you, I know, but I’d hope you’d forgive me.

There is one on the way that you will never know on this side of the first death.  He or she will never know you in this realm either.  You can add Sprocket to the long list of in utero monikers of which we’re so fond.  Sprout, Tater, Bumby, Tippy, Weeble,  Bug, and Sprocket.  I wonder how long you’d let yours stick?  I wonder what your name is now.

I miss you and I’m sorry.  I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you were scared.  I’m sorry for your mother and siblings.  I’m sorry for your grandparents , aunts, uncles, and cousins.  I’m sorry for me.  I have never been haunted by so many memories at once before.  You seem to be just moments away at times.  I see a piece of kinder-art flap in the fan-breeze and I think it’s you getting up from your bed.  I turn the corner at the front of the house and I hear your voice.  I hate missing you.

It might be very hard for a man to lay down his life for his child’s.  I’ll wager that it’s at least 1,000 times harder to live having been denied the chance to make that decision.

Posted by Daddy on Aug 10, 2011 at 8:33 pm

Last night I had a dream.  I wondered how long it would take to dream of Weeble, but today, upon further reflection, I realized that I have dreamt very little (if at all) of any of my children.  One might expect that Weeb, the short life and tragic death of whom having been so predominately at the forefront my mind every day for over five months, would be in my dreams much more often.

I am reticent to give any credence to mysticism in any form.  Never-the-less, I do not want to disbelieve that Weeble visited me either.  He lives, I live, and we share a human spirit as well as the love and familiarity that can only be shared by a father and his son. There is no reason to disbelieve that it is possible.  The real question is whether or not God would permit such an encounter.  The witch of Endor comes to mind.

In this dream Weeble was mostly as he was on the day before he died: 2.75 years old, blond,vivacious.  I knew, though, that he had died.  He was changed, though, in some ways.  He could do some things that no two-year-old can do: things like landing on his feet when flipped in the air by the arms, a feat that Jennifer, the children, and I witnessed.  He seemed not to want to show this ability off, so I stopped tossing him any harder than I would a “normal boy.”

I played with Weeb for a while, but while playing I knew that he would have to go soon.  I wondered as I sat him on the couch if he would just disappear from there.  I left him sitting there and rounded the corner.  Once out of his sight, I called him by name and he came running to me.  I asked him if he would come back to me whenever I called him, and the unspoken answer seemed to be, “No.”  I do not know if the answer came from him or from something/someone/somewhere else.
I do not know how he left after that point.  Suddenly traveling at a great rate downhill from the meeting place, I asked no one in particular why I am supposed to believe that God loves me.  The answer, again from an unknown source and delivered through an unknown medium, came to me: “You know God loves you because he told you that He loves you.”

Posted by Daddy on Jul 26, 2011 at 12:18 pm

Beebleton, you are on my mind every day.

The dissatisfaction I have with my life is exacerbated by my longing to be in Heaven. I want to be free from the grief of missing you, free from debilitating physical pain, and free from work that often costs me far more than it’s worth. I want to see what you see, and meet whom you’ve met. I want you to sit on my lap at the feet of our Creator, learning and worshiping.

Maybe I’ll sit on your lap. Perhaps we’ll all be children there. All I know for sure is that it’s real, you’re there, and I will be some day too.

If my other pains were gone, I’d still be crushed by your absence until we are together again. My hope and strength are strong – they are probably the only strength I have left.

It makes no sense to tell you to be a good boy anymore, so I’ll just tell you that I’ll be one.

Your mother and siblings miss you terribly, but they, like me, will be alright in the end.

Love, Daddy

P.S. It brings me great joy to think about what you might be doing there.

Posted by Mommy on at 11:58 am

I read that Heaven is Real book, It paints a lovely picture of a child’s view of Heaven. I feel so distant from you today. I’m starting to lose the feeling that you were just right here a minute ago and that I could almost reach out and touch you. I remember in the early days I fought against the feeling of getting used to you not being here. Eventually, there is no choice and it happens anyway. God forces/allows us to adapt to the new situation, as painful as it is. It used to feel like a betrayal every time we went somewhere without you. Now I only feel that way sometimes.Although we adapt and continue to function, the pain of missing you does not lessen. We are just learning to live with it. And look forward to the day when we can see you again.

Love, Mommy

Posted by Mommy on at 11:52 am

Oh, my little Weeble! It has been five months now since I last played with you, held you, kissed you. Since you sat next to me and said, “I love you and you love me.” I never tried to imagine what it would feel like to lose one of my children, but if I had, I couldn’t have come close to imagining this kind of pain.
I read a quote the other day, “Describing what it feels like to “miss” a child cannot be done properly. There is a feeling — totally overwhelming — that gnaws and chews at the heart constantly letting us know that things aren’t as they should be. Every thought, every action is colored by this color of blue.” That is exactly how I feel.