20

Dear Kai,

It's been 20 months since you left us. It will be almost two years soon. Almost. I try not to think about your coming two-year angelversary. I'll just fall into the trap of what-could-have-beens and what-should-have-beens. They are just too painful like picking at a new scab of an un-healed wound.

How is it that I'm able to exist without you? I know the answer to this but sometimes I ask myself this question as if it would make a difference. You are gone and I am here. I wish the line between being and non-being is not so wide or at least, just once, I could see and hold you again. The intangible is tangible again. But unfortunately, this is not possible. My love for you is all that I have and I'm hoping against all hope it will transcend death and reach you.

Today, my new chiropractor asked me if TLB is my first. I said nothing. Not because I don't want to tell the truth about you but because if she couldn't be bothered to remember what was in my patient intake form, then I couldn't be bothered to share you with her. Yes, I've become selfish that way. I don't feel guilt for not being forthcoming to certain people about you and about what happened to you. I choose the time, the place and the people, especially the people, since I've been wary of non-reaction, non-sympathy and non-acknowledgment. From my experience, my grief for you does not always get any legitimacy from the public-at-large despite my honesty.

But there are times when I feel open and ready to share, without doubt and disillusionment sitting in my heart. I tell some people, who are worthy, about you with my eyes wide open. In fact, I look at them straight in the eye so they could see the kind of mother I have become, someone who fiercely loves you and affirms your life. A mother forever connected to the child she lost. I will tell them how I commemorate you and honor your gifts to me.

Yesterday, I sent the loom-knitted hats I made in your memory to Cure International. This organization provides hospital care to mothers and their sick babies in Afghanistan. I'm glad I was able to participate in this campaign to mark your 20th-month angelversary. It's one of the thoughtful ways I can honor your memory.

I hope these hats will serve as a reminder of love and hope to those mothers. Maybe they're not so pretty or cutesy like the ones I see on healthy babies but I pray that they can be a source of comfort and a way to let them know someone is thinking of them. It's never easy to have the welfare of one's child in the balance, to worry about what tomorrow will hold for them, so I'm grateful to have contributed in my own small way. And you know what, you made that possible, my son. Thank you for such a gift.

Six loom-knitted hats for the "Knit, Pray, Love" campaign of AIR1 and Cure International. Two preemie-sized and four baby-sized hats. Lovingly handmade in memory of our beloved Kai.

I hope that you are well and enjoying the freedom of un-tethered existence. Don't forget to watch over us - your mother, father and sibling - as you play in the waves of love and light. We live here on Earth, loving, remembering and missing you forever.

Your Mommy