And so…

…the morning came that William had to die.

We were able to hold him.

Feel his weight, take in his smell, wonder at his features, commit them to memory.

Were were together for the first time in days and for the last time in this lifetime.

We dressed him in his ‘going home’ outfit and took him off the ventilator.

My heart broke and I knew that I would never ever be the same person again.

David carried him out into the sunshine for the first and last time.

He said later, he didn’t want William’s last breaths to be inside a stuffy hospital room.

I can’t describe it adequately.

It was awful and it was beautiful all at once.

To let him go, to free his spirit, in the early afternoon sun of April, was an amazing feeling and while I was so overwhelmingly sad for me, I was happy that he would have no more pain, happy that he was free from the prison that was his body. It was like releasing a butterfly into the sky and watching as it flew as high as it’s wings could carry it.

Wild and free.

I had been so consumed but when he was gone I looked around and found family and friends and my girls and my husband and I felt a soft breeze on my cheek, reminding me that I was alive.

I wasn’t going to hold him but I changed my mind and what was left of my resolve to stay strong tore away from me.

My long awaited boy.

My resolute protector.

My William.

He was gone.