In my dreams, your story is still being written. There are chapters left blank in a book of thousands of pages. A book that contains your life story. In some other world, we heard your first laugh, danced when you took your first steps, watched as you became a big brother, how you took the responsibility seriously. We saw you grow from toddler to boy to teenager to adult. Your dad stood with you on your wedding day, and I cried tears of joy with you as you saw your bride for the first time. There should be a book. A book of life, of you. Instead I sit here without you. Trying to find a way to make one simple chapter of my life, mean to the world what it meant to me. I’m trying to make your life my life now. But that’s harder than I thought it would be. You know, I asked God to end my story when he ended yours. He didn’t oblige. Maybe that seems morbid to most, but I know that’s just something a mother prays when her baby dies. And I’m glad to be here. I’m glad to be raising your little sister. I’m glad to love her in the same way I love you. But there will always be a part of my heart that beats on begrudgingly, knowing as long as it continues, you are a world away.
But most of me will go on living. I’ll work on finding the joy in it all. But I’ll always try to make the world remember a little boy that was here for only 37 weeks and 76 minutes. I will try to live for you, Austin. And I’ll write the book for both of us.