A long time ago, I promised to write to write about something.

I haven’t yet.

I want to, and I’ve started that post about 10 times, but it never works out.

I’ve come to the conclusion that I can’t find the words to tell you what this boy meant to me. Means to me.


What I can tell you is how much I miss his sweet face.

How much I wonder what he’s like now. Is he in school? Does he live with his father? With an aunt and uncle? Is he no longer HIV+? Is he even still alive?


I wish I could remember when his birthday is.

I wish I had seen him eat his first solid food, seen him take his first steps, heard his first words.

But I am thankful I can remember his sweet smile.

That I have a picture of his first meal of baby food.

That I can still remember the slight weight of his tiny body as his head rested on my shoulders, his little rear stuck out.

I am so, so glad I could see him when he was in the hospital. To hold him as he whimpered, and to wish, more than anything it was me, and not him.

I am so, so glad I love him, and that I know how much I love him.