Birthday, memorial, eulogy..

R2D2 is now 9. It's hard to sit here and wonder where the time has gone. How has it been 9 years already since my life took a turn for the better. Where have the years gone? How is it possible that the little boy that was born with the help of induction has turned into someone that is in grade 3?! He was born 10 days late at 7lbs and 14oz. My little spitfire baby has all grown up on me.

We held his birthday party for his friends at the local bowling alley. It was a chaotic mess but everyone had fun so that's all that matters. However, we won't be doing that again next year. Maybe next year we will try the swimming pool again as it's hard to have so many older kids in the house and keeping them entertained. Where we live it seems like people have forgotten about things to do for the kids. Now that the movie theater is on the verge of closing, we have lost out on that one small thing to do. All we have left is the bowling alley and the swimming pool. I sometimes miss the things that big city living provides. The oppertunities for the families with kids. The shopping. The options.

For his actual birthday, we just held a dinner here for him. But this year it was special because we had family from out of town here to spend it with us. Great grandparents, grandparents, uncles...they were here to welcome him into his 9th year of life. But they weren't here just for his birthday. The memorial for Dinky was being held the following day.

It was a good service from what I can remember. It seems like so long ago now. A lifetime ago. Everyone that came made the day just that little bit better by their show of support and love for us. I wrote the eulogy which was helpful and healing in a way, but it was hard. I couldn't find the words to write so I turned to the trusty wine and was able to just let things flow quickly. Typing while crying a waterfall was hard. The memorial was touching. Our good and dear friend read the eulogy for us as I knew there was no way that I would be able to get the words out. I couldn't even sit in my chair a few minutes before the service started without crying. It was an emotional day. It was allowed to be. I'm glad it was because it was soothing in a way. To be able to freely pour out all of those broken emotions, to know that everyone else around us was pouring out their broken feelings...because in that moment we were all one with the sorrow and the loss of our sweetest little Dinky. His aunties wrote and read something for him and us as well. It was touching.

I'm glad that the service is over and done with. Now we can start to  move on (for as much as we can move on). I don't want to say that we have closed the page on that chapter of our lives, because we will never be able to fully do that, but we at least can go into the next chapter. Losing a child is devistating. Some days I want to pretend that it never happened, that it was all just a dream until I see the small box on our window sill, his picture, his framed footprints. We all miss him so much that it just doesn't seem fair. How can it be fair. It's not fair. I selfishly want my baby back. I want his cuddles. The laughter. The love. I want it back so badly. But it's selfish because his life, while so full of love, was so hard for him. As a human being, I am glad he's at peace. As his mother? Ugh.

We also, on top of everything else, got a puppy the day after the memorial. It's a fun adventure to have a puppy as it's something that I have never experienced before.

I'm tired of writing right now so I shall leave a copy of the eulogy that I wrote here.

I would like to begin by thanking everyone for being here today, our family is touched that you all are here to show support for us during these trying times. We are also grateful that you are here to pay your respects to our son Phoenix, or as we called him, Dinky.

There is nothing more heartbreaking than the death of a child. It seems to go against nature that a parent should have to say that final goodbye to someone so young. As you all know, Phoenix was a complicated child even before birth. But that didn't mean that we didn't relish in the joy that he was going to bring us. It wasn't long after birth that things started to become more complex with him. Life for our sweet boy wasn't easy. And it wasn't always kind. But every day he proved to us time and time again that he was strong. And he was alive. Even as physically restricted as he was, he worked so hard for every small thing that he did. Not much came easy for him if it involved physical strength. His little body just couldn't handle the things that a "typical" child could.

However, laughter came easily. It didn't take much to get Phoenix to laugh. The sound of the lawnmower or the chainsaw would have him in stitches. A sneeze from someone. One of us parents scolding one of the bigger kids. It didn't matter because he thought everything was hilarious. Trying to roll away during diaper changes turned into a great game for him to play and all I can say is I'm glad we don't have carpet to deal with!

Love also came easily to him. Everyone that met him loved him. With his big eyes and charming personality, you couldn't help but lose a little piece of yourself to him. The strength and determination that he showed every single day was such an amazing thing to see. We couldn't rush him into doing anything as the only time that he went by was Phoenix time. But that was fine. That taught us that we needed to slow down, to embrace and enjoy the smaller things. To take the time to discover that it really was, and is, the small things in life that matter the most. Phoenix loved his older siblings so much and there was nothing as amazing as watching them all interact with each other.

Although his life was filled with the complications of epilepsy and physical limitations, Phoenix gave everything his all. When the days were good, they were so great. All the laughter, all of us encouraging him to practice some new small skill that he had, the smiles, the life in his eyes. Yet not every day was good. In fact he had more bad days than not. To watch your child, or any child, struggle with anything is hard. But to watch them deal with uncontrolled epilepsy was heartbreaking. Knowing that there was nothing you could do for them to help make it go away is possibly one of the worst feelings out there. It was physically and emotionally draining for us, him, and anyone that had direct contact to watch. But he never gave up. Phoenix proved time and time and time again that it wasn't going to keep him down. For every good day, we had five bad ones. Which only meant that when those good days happened, we never took them for granted.

Phoenix taught us to slow down. To live life to the fullest. To love hard. To find strength even when it felt like there was nothing left. Dig just a little bit deeper. Find silver linings in every dismal situation. He taught us that every little thing is something to be thankful for. And even though we only had him for less than 16 months before he gained his angel wings, we made sure that he was loved. And that he knew he was loved. Every single day. There will not be a day that doesn't go by that Phoenix isn't in our hearts. We all loved Phoenix, one way or another. Family. Friends. Doctors. Therapists and support workers. He brought us all together even while we were trying to figure him out.

I miss you Dinky. We all do. Thank you for teaching us and letting us all love you for the time that you were here with us. Your memories will be cherished for the rest of our lives. You've left a gaping hole in our lives that will never be filled.

And as Robert Munsch said: "I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always, As long as I'm living, my baby you'll be.”