Donovan’s death anniversary came and went. 9/29. Me and my husband (Donovan’s stepdad) released butterflies in our backyard. My daughter and best friend were with us via video.

I didn’t want the day to truly come and go, but it was not a celebration, like so many other death day anniversaries I have watched. I didn’t know what I was expecting — some type of closure? Some type of release of guilt or the inability to accept that my son is dead?

I felt none of those things. Covid stole my son from me. Covid stole my husband’s stepson. Covid stole my daughter’s brother. I yearn to be able to think of my son and have happy, funny, loving memories pop into my mind. Because I was one of the lucky ones — I was able to be with my son before he was intubated, before Covid ravaged his body, but those last moments are what pop up in my mind when I think of him.

Baby, I am trying to not replay those last days. I miss you so much. My heart aches. I love you, baby boy. xoxo, Mom