The Aquarium

The day has come. It has been on the calendar all year. Your colorful, cute sea animals scribbled over the day, so I could barely see it, but I could never forget. Today, December 3rd, is the day we go to the aquarium for your birthday. My big boy, you were my first. The one that taught me to love more than myself and showed me to see through a child's eyes. Today you turn four years old.

Once inside the aquarium, I head straight to your favorite spot, where we spend our whole day, and you watch in wonderment with big eyes and a pointed finger saying, " Look, did you see that one? Look how big that one is! I love sharks; you Exclaim loud enough to turn a few heads. I giggle and say I love you, buddy. You look straight at me and say I love you too, mommy.

This memory holds the biggest spot in my heart.

As I sit in the corner watching the sharks swim around today, my mind switches to six months ago when my whole world stopped.

We were heading to the grocery store like we do every week—your favorite song playing on the radio. The sun was shining on your face, You singing along in the back seat with a huge grin. I can still hear you. My heart starts to beat faster because I know what's coming next.

We began to pull through the intersection when the light turned green, and there it was, a giant black truck barreling through; he hadn't noticed the light change. He hit your side so hard he sent us rolling. Three times if I recall correctly. Blood is dripping down my face, but I don't notice. I scramble out of the car and to your side. I tried to open your door, but it was too smashed in. I looked around frantically and noticed the passenger door window was open. I jump in without a minute's thought. I reach you and see just how bad it is. Your breathing is labored, and you are barely conscious; I pull your limp body out of your car seat and towards the front of the car. That's when I see two arms reaching out to help. I pass you through the window. When I'm out, I find your body heading into the ambulance, and within a few seconds, we're off to the hospital.

Once we reach the emergency room, you start to decline rapidly. The doctors and nurses do all they can to save you. I pace back and forth, fearing every minute that passes may be your last. The doctors pulled me into a small room and informed me there was nothing more they could do. At that moment, it was as if someone had sucked all the air out of the room. I hurried quickly to your side and never stopped holding your precious little hand. As you took your final breath, I kissed your forehead and sang your favorite song. You closed your eyes one last time, and you were gone.

I wipe away a few silent tears that have fallen down my cheeks. I say goodbye to the sharks and head to the gift shop. I browse around for the biggest shark I can find. I find you a soft, big-eyed goofy grinning shark. I chuckle because I know you would have loved him so much. I head over to see you, sit next to your headstone, and tell you about the sharks I saw today. As the sun begins to set, I place the shark on your gravestone and whisper happy birthday, buddy. I love you.