Today you would be 13 months old. I have been thinking about how long I will write you monthly letters. I have decided at least until you are two years old, and then who knows. But that is how long we took monthly pictures of Eli, and how long we had planned to take monthly pictures of you. So for now, that is how long I will write you these letters.
I miss you. The weather is warm here, and people are spending more time outside. Parks are full, families stroll down the streets in the evenings, pushing their children in strollers, laughing and talking, and pools are starting to open. We filled out the registration to use our pool, listing family members. I wanted to list you, but you aren’t here to need a pool pass (why they insist on infants/babies having pool passes actually makes little sense to me in the first place). I want you to be here, delighting as you splash in the kiddie pool or go in the bigger pool with me or papa.
I am done teaching for the semester, and wrapping up a few projects that I am doing with some children in Baltimore schools. In some ways, it feels like the city is falling apart. The six year olds were telling me they had to run inside because someone had been shooting a gun outside their school. So young, and guns are already something they are slowly getting used to.
And an eight month old was killed at a local daycare. A worker called an ambulance and said the baby had stopped breathing. It appeared to be SIDS. But then they reviewed videos from the day care, and have now charged the worker with murder. It’s horrible. Since your death, I have heard so many tales of other babies and young children’s deaths. I absorb them, collect them, think of them. I am a different person than I was 13 months ago, before I really ‘knew’ that babies could die. I am sorry that I wasn’t able to keep you alive on earth, but I keep you alive in our memories and our stories. Eli talks about you, and we all miss you.
You will always be my dear second son.
I love you, Sidney Louis.