Never Enough from The Greatest Showman, sang by Loren Allred

and…

One More Day by Diamond Rio

Alex and I went to Mexico for a week’s long vacation; it was a very generous gift from my dad’s sister, Ronda and it was proposed to us only a couple weeks after William died. I didn’t know it until a couple days ago, but I had gone into that vacation hoping it would feel just as refreshing as the other vacations I’ve taken with Alex in the past five years. The ocean holds a special place for both of us, as it does most people, and it always seemed to bring a fulfilled feeling that I could ‘t seem to find anywhere else. So, the idea of going to Mexico and resting next to the vast blue water with my favorite (alive) human was something I looked forward to very much.

The first full day we spent at the all-inclusive resort we were at, we soaked up the sun and met some really awesome people from the pacific west coast and had quite a bit of tequila while we talked and got to know the two other couples sitting at the swim-up bar. After some time passed, I sent Alex a silent request to get back to our room because I was feeling completely out of sorts (or drunk) and very close to crying. He was the perfect partner in this situation (he is in pretty much all moments) because he did just that; got our tequila’ed selves behind closed doors and then the flood of tears started from me. I went on and on about how “it’s just not fair that William’s not here with us” and “we’re at this beautiful resort surrounded by people who didn’t know him and that had kids of their own. How could I be so selfish?”

I sat on the bed, looking out the big bay window wall, showing only ocean and sky, and the sobs escaped as Alex sat behind me, his arms draped around my neck like a necklace. I eventually laid down and fell asleep. When I woke up, I wasn’t crying anymore, but the sadness lingered.

The rest of the week wasn’t quite as drowned in tequila (I didn’t really like that experience), but there was a lot of sunshine, great food, and more time to “just be” with Alex. When we got back home, almost everyone I’d come back in contact with asked how our trip was. The connecting flights on the way home made for a long day, and I was happy to get home, and I just didn’t know how to answer that question. Because of course it was incredible and beautiful and relaxing. Of course I feel spoiled that we got to go and there was absolutely healing and connection that came with the salt water and warm sunshine. On the other hand, it didn’t give me the same fulfilled feeling I was expecting it to give me. I still have the weird empty feeling I’ve had for over 7 months now.

Then, last night, I had a very vivid dream of William. It’s the first one I’ve had since he was born. It was really just a scene of him learning how to sit-up on his own. He was older though, a toddler and had a tube coming out of his neck to breathe for him. He was smiling and looking at me as Alex had one hand on his back to steady him. William’s skin was full of scars and there was medical equipment everywhere. And… we were all happy, simply because we were together. I woke up feeling a sense of longing for that life. To see what William would look like as a happy and comfortable toddler; even after the heart transplant he needed, after his kidneys woke back up and his lungs got well enough to work with a machine again. I longed to see my son, even if it was for just one day.

The song “One More Day” feels so perfect for the emotions I had this morning as time went on. As I journaled and ate breakfast and picked up the house… I realized that if that dream had been real, it would only “leave me wishing still, for one more day with [him],” just like I’m wishing for more dreams like that one.

I told my boss and friend Katie in her office yesterday afternoon about the expectations I had going into our trip to Mexico and all of the events that we’re planning in honor of William. All the things we’re doing to keep his legacy alive… and all I kept saying and hearing was, “It’ll just never be enough.” Then, while I was running errands this morning, the song from The Greatest Showman movie came on. The melody is truly one of my favorites. It’s beautiful and speaks to my choir-girl heart so much. Then the lyrics hit me… “I’m trying to hold my breath, let it stay this way, can’t let this moment pass.” That first line brought me back to William’s hospital room. It took me back to knowing what was coming… knowing his body was getting tired. It brought me back to the day I talked to my best friend, Jenna on the phone as I walked outside.

“I just know that every day from here on out is a gift with him. That’s all I know.” Jenna cried and smiled on the other end and agreed with me. I cried and smiled as I felt that chest-crushing love I had gotten used to when I thought about William, but it felt bigger somehow. When I went back up to his room that afternoon, I looked at him as much as I could. Anytime I woke up in the middle of the night, I would walk up to his bedside and put my hand on his head. I’d tell him how much I loved him every chance I got. I knew it was a gift… each of those moments.

This morning in my car, sitting outside of the tax office I needed to bring my paperwork into, I closed my eyes and listened to the rest of the song.

“Darling without you… all the shine of a thousand spotlights, all the stars we steal from the night sky will never be enough… towers of gold are still too little, these hands could hold the world but it’ll never be enough, never be enough for me.”

Not the coast in Cabo, Mexico; not having another baby; not the most beautiful events to raise money and/or awareness for CHD; not the perfect never-ending blog or book will ever be enough for me to feel whole.

With this all being known and shared with you today means a few things. It doesn’t mean that I won’t be doing any or all of the things I just listed. It doesn’t mean that William’s legacy and other CHD babies, families and medical professionals aren’t going to be my main priority for the rest of my life. It doesn’t mean that I won’t write more blog posts when a song gets added to William’s Playlist. What it does mean is… I won’t be searching to fill the hole in my heart anymore. I won’t be doing anything with the expectation that I’ll feel the same as I did when he was here or before. It means I will share William’s story in hopes of bringing a cure for CHD and hope to the heart community. It means that I will be writing and sharing a book of William and my journey hopefully sooner rather than later. It means I’ll love William while he’s gone and do things to get as close as I can to having him here.

Now… If that book is going to happen, I need to breathe all my writing efforts into that project. What’s perfect is, I’ve gone through the original William’s Playlist I made on my phone and in my gut, it feels like the right time to end the routine of each Monday being “blog post day.” It feels like the perfect time to focus on that book, and although it’s so bitter-sweet when anything ends, I know that even an infinite number of songs and thoughts shared on this blog would “never be enough” and I’ll always be wishing for “one more day” to make more memories with William to share with you all. That’s the beautiful thing about life though…. it keeps moving forward. There will be more memories, even without William here, that will be for and with him.

Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for reading and witnessing William. And me. And Alex. Don’t be surprised if there are more songs that come up in the future, I just can’t promise when or if they’ll be. I can promise though, that there will be a book and other really, really big and important things for and from our William.

Be well. I love you and I’ll see you soon.