One of the challenging parts of the last two months without Deacon that I didn’t see coming has been learning to stop parenting him. My muscle memory for being his mom is so strong. Grabbing his lunch box in the morning, setting his spot at the table, checking for an inhaler in my bag before we leave. Every time I do something that involves him that doesn’t need to be done anymore it hits so hard again…he’s gone.

The need to do for him has been extra loud while shopping for Christmas presents. It was impossible to scan the toy isle and not see 10 things he would have wanted and I would have wanted to get him. So Derek and I did. We bought the monster trucks and hot wheels and obnoxious screeching dinosaurs. I piled them in our cart, took them home, and wrapped them. And while there’s a boy on an angel tree on our town who will get the joy of opening these gifts on Christmas morning, and I need to take them to the delivery point soon, just for now, for a little bit longer, I’ll look at them under my tree and pretend they’re going to Deacon.

Sometimes I internally kick myself for not remembering that I don’t need to do something. But then I think of, with dread, the day coming in the future when I’ll realize I went all day without trying to do something for him. What will that day say about me? So for now, I keep throwing his jacket in the back of the car with the others, adding his favorite foods to the grocery order, and heading upstairs to make sure he’s fallen asleep in his bed and not somewhere strange. It was an honor in the mundane to care for him while he was alive, so I’ll try to find joy in continuing to do for him while my muscle memory is still strong.