*Originally posted 2/15/16 (a few days before he passed) from Sawyer’s Caring Bridge Page

Sawyer, sweet Sawyer . . .  how we all wish we could take this away for you.  It is not right.  It is not what we had planned for you and believe me, we had big hopes and dreams for you . . . . Cancer wasn’t one of them.  Neither was leaving this earth at 9.  NINE!  How is this even possible? There have been times I wanted to scream, shout and punch something but instead, I’ve cried (and cried and cried) and decided to spend as much time as possible with you.  Soak myself in your presence and exude nothing but love and hope . . . even when we were told how this would likely end months ago, I tried to keep my game face on. So I laughed with you, took thousands of pictures, tons of video, even recorded your sweet voice . . .  you talking, singing, the sayings we say to each other all the time:

Mom:  Guess What? 
Soy: You love me.
Mom: Yes I do. 

A few years ago I lost you 50% of the time, that was hard but I can’t imagine losing you 100% of the time.  I try to pretend it isn’t inevitable and it worked (kind of) at times, until the last several weeks.  There is no hiding it.  You can’t walk anymore.  You sleep so much.  You aren’t as chatty.  You need an oxygen machine at night and sometimes during the day. This is happening.  The cancer and all its myriad of side effect have progressed enough to where you can no longer go between both your houses, the last two ER visits and break through medications have shown us that your little body is at its max.  So you’ll be with Erin and I until you pass but please know that we will not only continue to take excellent care of you (we’ve both taken leave so we can be here for you 100% of the time) but we have opened our home for your other family as well.  Our house is their house.  There are no more “mom’s days” or dad’s days” . . .  there are just Sawyer’s days.  I don’t know how many more there will be but I vow to make every last one of them count.  When it comes to being your mom, I have no regrets and I’m not about to start now.

I am going to try to keep exuding love, hope and comfort for you . . . and will add in peace.  I will try my best to keep my fears from stealing away our last moments.  Instead of being afraid you won’t wake up the next morning, I’m going to try to focus on making sure, if you don’t wake up, that you will have no doubt how enormously you were loved.

I will love you forever . . . and then some.


P.S.  Guess what?