Ever since you left, my memory has gotten worse.

I don't know if that is part of grief, but it worries me how bad my memory is. Which also scares me. I don't want to forget anything about you. Somethings I try not to think about; like how you looked when you were sick. But I never want to forget how soft your hair was, or how you looked when the nurses shaped your hair into a mohawk.
I don't want to forget your tiny, wrinkly toes.
Or your gorgeous dark, blue eyes. Or the way you fell asleep in my arms the day of your operation, one arm cocked out to the side, snoring.

That memory makes me smile.

I'm scared because my memories are all I have left of you and I feel like they are slipping away.

Of moths and sunsets

I went to visit your grave yesterday Peanut.

It's quiet there. Peaceful; with only the hum of the highway in the background.

I feel the tug to visit you. For two months, I made sure to go every Monday and I'm sorry I haven't been keeping up with that.

As I was standing over your resting place, there was a small, white moth that fluttered near. A smile broke out on my face as I imagined it was you, coming to say hello. I watched as it came toward me and just barely touched my leg then flew on. I smiled, tears in my eyes, as I watched you fly away.

Thank you for saying hello.

I don't usually say anything when I visit. I just sit, and watch, and listen. Hoping to hear you or feel the wind blow through your wind chimes. I love how the sun filters through the tall pines and casts a warm glow over you. It's like God is smiling, wishing you a peaceful night.

I miss you baby.

I had, what you might call, an epiphany yesterday. I was looking down at the base of what will hold your headstone; imagining what you look like now. Not in the physical sense, but in the heavenly sense. I was sad, at first, imagining you in the arms of my dead relatives. But then I realized; you are whole now. There are no scars and there is no more pain. There are no more needles and no more beeping machines. You will never have to have another procedure or blood test. You will never need another surgery. God has healed your heart and you are whole.
It sounds silly, but it didn't really hit me till yesterday. I'm happy that you aren't in pain anymore. It was so hard to watch you suffer in silence.

So it's okay, baby, that you had to leave. I know you tried your hardest to heal and stay with us. I'm glad you got to meet your brother and that we had you home for those two, short days.
It's okay. I'm okay.

I miss you though.

Till next time, thinking of you always.

REAL Pearl in the Oyster

It seems someone has grabbed my old "" address. When ever someone Googles "Pearl in the Oyster Blog", their blog pops us.

The thing is, this "blog" is whack.

They "blog" about swimming pools. It makes no sense, it's like they started this blog to talk about nothing and take my old address JUST to get traffic. But when I go to the site, there isn't anything there. There are no posts, no followers, just a generic picture with a description about swimming pools. I don't understand.

Anyway, just thought I would put that out there just so people will know.
THIS blog is the REAL Pearl in the Oyster. 

Thank you!

In the world of blogging, it is a great honor to be asked to guest post on another blog. Your readers bring more traffic to their blog and vice versa! It is a great way to network and spread your message.

I had the honor of guest posting on a friend's website for Congenital Heart Defects. She is an amazing advocate who recently brought pulse ox screening to the state of Indiana. I am so proud that she has made this incredible step forward in saving lives in honor of her sweet angel Cora.

So take a moment to visit her site and leave some love!