February 11

Thirteen years ago today while resting in my arms, Logan took his final earthly breath and his first in Heaven. I still remember how it felt to realize that he was gone after his tiny, battered body shuttered with one last inhalation. 

The complexion of this day has changed over the past 13 years. It started out as impossibly, impenetrably black, so dark that I wasn't sure that light could ever pierce its thick, intense mantle. Those were the early years when I dreaded February 11 and wished I could just skip directly from the 10th to the 12th. 

Then after a few years it transitioned to a mottled green and blue-gray; green for jealousy of others who got the miracle for which we so fervently prayed, blue-gray for sadness. But a muted sadness that felt less hopeless and pervasive and more chronic; it was a lingering, melancholic state. But I gradually began to see that there was still room for joy, even if I was unable to feel it.

And now... well, I'm not sure what color it is, because none of those shades fit the bill anymore. Maybe it's reddish-yellow for his hair or that magical shade of bright blue that matched his eyes. I'm not angry or depressed or envious. Sad, yes. I wouldn't be fully human if I weren't still sad and reflective over losing my five and a half year old son to the beast that is cancer. But I'm not stuck in grief: I'm living. 

So today we remembered Logan by living. Adam took the day off and shuttled Brady to school for me. Then we had some quiet time at home, just talking in low tones in the family room before we took a walk around the neighborhood. A little later, we left to give blood as we do each year and enjoyed lunch at the Cheesesteak Shop (because Adam wanted red meat). Then this evening, while the boys went to Youth Group, we went to Costco and had that cheesy pizza that Logan loved so much for dinner. 

It was, all in all, a low-key day of remembrance. And after having the entire day to reflect on my time with that booty-shaking kid with the incandescent smile whose existence fed my soul with so much light, the bottom line is that it still doesn't make sense to me. I still don't understand why he's not here; why he's not growing up alongside his siblings and why I don't get to see him become a man. But I believe that God has a plan for us and that we will see Logan again. And I am grateful for --and cling to-- that truth. Even on the hard days.