Every night as I lay down, I reach into the drawer in my bedside table and pull out one of the castings of Sloan’s left hand. It’s my favorite one, the one that is formed in the exact way his hand world be if he had it wrapped around my thumb. It rests in the drawer, on one of the small blue suede bags the funeral home placed them in, beside a grief book that was sent to me. I know where the casting sits exactly, so I usually already have the lights off as I retrieve it.
Tonight, I had the light on so I could read through the book for some strength. I noticed a large envelope under the suede bag. One I had clearly opened months ago, but placed aside. Inside were the most beautiful graphic art pieces I’ve ever seen. Silhouettes of my boys, taken from photos of them and adorned with words I so needed to read at that moment.
I’m not sure why I hadn’t looked at them before, perhaps something had distracted me and I’d set it aside, out of mind until tonight. All I know is these mean the world to me, and I am so overwhelmed with gratitude at their creation.