Every year on August 16th I stop and remember my nephew. Every year on this day I remember that debilitating phone call, the sound in my mom’s voice when she said a car had hit him and they didn’t think he would make it. Every year on this day I can’t help but to literally be sick for my brother. August 16th is easily defined as one of the worst days of our lives.
My children’s little faces were unforgettable in the worst way; The shock in their voices, the limpness in their bodies, the sound of their sobbing and no way to help them. No way to reverse it. A pure loss with such finality is devastating.
Lately when I miss my Kid3 to the very core of my bones I remind myself that I CAN visit him, I CAN have him back if I want, I CAN talk to him, I WILL see him again. When August 16th comes around, I can’t help but to recall that fateful day, the day that changed us all, the day that broke us.
RIP Oni-boy, we miss you every single day.
I love you, Love Auntie