Today is the anniversary of my son's death. Every year it seems to sneak up on me. I think to myself, "Hummm, I am not such a wreck this year." Then all of a sudden-wham-blindsided with a ton of bricks.
Out of the blue the memories of our last moments together pop into my head and turn me into an emotional wreck even on the best of days. One of the things I miss most is the way I know he always loved to be held.
It could be a rather complicated procedure. You had to make sure his chin was not blocking his tracheotomy tube. Make sure the oxygen hose was not kinked. Make sure his feeding tube button was secure. Make sure the feeding tube bag was full because you didn't want to get all settled and have to get up to fill it. You had to make sure you had the suction nozzle close enough in case he laughed or coughed and clogged the trach with mucus.
I miss the absolutely gaggy smell of pediasure. I miss cleaning around the feeding tube. I miss cleaning and changing the trach tube. I miss changing the gaggy poop diapers caused by a diet of pediasure. I miss measuring out a drugstore of medicine to keep him from seizing constantly.I miss catheterizing him when his kidneys didn't work right.
I miss the way he laughed when I suctioned his trach tube. I miss the way his face would light up when he saw me. Most of all, I miss the way his body felt snuggled in my arms.