Today is exactly two months since the worst day of my life. A day I prayed for fifteen months would never come. A day that felt like every cell in my body shriveled and died, leaving me broken, lifeless, and soulless. A day I never could have imagined and one I will never forget. A day of feeling utterly and ultimately forsaken. Two months ago, on April 11, 2020, our beautiful twelve year old son William took his last breath on earth, after so courageously battling brain cancer for fifteen months.
I have such a strong desire to write hundreds of pages about everything Will did in his short life, how joyfully he lived it, how much love he gave and how many people loved and adored him. He truly was the rare soul who glowed from the inside out, and he made me a better person than who I was. I have almost the same desire to fill up pages writing about his death, how it robbed us of our beautiful son and broke me to the core. I could endlessly plead for answers to why and how and the fucking unfairness of it all - the fact that nothing in our lives seems right or will ever be the same.
What I know is that I will forever be bound to an unimaginable loss and an exquisite joy, with no choice but to accept both. And though I can never deny the pain and sorrow and grief, I can choose to celebrate Will’s wonderful life and the gift that it is. I can marvel that somehow in the universe’s black box our adoption agency perfectly matched our family with Jungmin William Hovis. I can treasure every magical moment in the twelve years that I was his mother on earth, and know that he is still with me and will always be my son. I will see him in everything that is beautiful. And I know that even after that terrible day two months ago, William’s unwavering spirit will live on in everyone who knew him, and even some who didn’t. How I hate that he died. But how I love that he truly lived.