I will remember how I felt on this day in 2013 forever. It's ingrained in the part of my memory center that houses feelings of devastation and sadness and anger and pain. I didn't know it was the night before goodbye until the next day, when Gavin was pronounced dead. But my heart knew it would soon be time to let go of my first born son... and I could feel it shattering.
It was the strangest day. There were very clinical (and quite upsetting) "Brain Death" examinations. There were moments when we just laid in bed with Gavin and sobbed. Then, there were moments when it felt right to plan ahead for funeral preparations - and so, very wrong to think of planning at all. This was the third day of torture - watching our son's appearance slowly change and watching him gently die.
If you want to go back and read about that day, you can click here to read "Our Mystery Boy."
Tomorrow we will celebrate Gavin's life as a family. We will smile and laugh. We will tell stories about him, like we always do, and remember all the reasons he changed us and taught us and made us proud and happy. We will remember all of his doctors who cared for him - and for us as a family - so lovingly during his life and especially during his final days. We will be together - all of us. Gavin and Brian and Darcy and Hope and Mommy and Daddy.
Lately, Hope has been reaching her arm up into the air and looking up with her eyes when you ask her "Where is Gavin?" or "What does Gavin say?" The other day, I had Brian and Hope out on the swingset when she did it again.
"Brian! Did you see that? I think Hope sees Gavin. I just asked her 'Where's Gavin?' and she reached her hand up into the sky!" I said.
Brian replied, "Yeah, I know she sees him. He touches her hand when she reaches it up! He does that to me, too!"
I believe him.
I will never forget how I felt on this day two years ago.
The night before goodbye.
I'm lifting my heart to the sky tonight just for you, Gavin.