I was supposed to meeting you this coming Saturday, hoping to run around the entire house like how you usually do. Hoping to see you running towards me when I enter the house, then you’d pee on my leg because you are so excited and can’t control your bladder. How you’d lie on Jerwin’s body, lazing through the minutes. Doing little tricks when you want the treats. How you made everyone smile
4 more days till you are 6 months old.
I hate that driver, that driver that knocked you down and drove away. Hate that driver who has no sense of responsibility to even stop and see what has happened. You’ve no idea how traumatized Jeremy would be looking at you get knocked now, how guilty he would feel because he was the one that brought you out. You’ve no idea how badly Jerwin cried when he called me to tell me that you were lying on the kitchen table bleeding. (Jerwin never cries. Not even when he broke his arm when he was a kid. Never.) You’ve no idea how Jon was looking forward to come back and teach you some tricks.
Everyone in the family’s crying for you, can you see and hear us baby? I’m crying as I’m typing this entry, and it sucks. I miss you Porsch.
If only I could still see you this Saturday.
I miss you little sweetheart. But I’ll never be able to hug you again.
I hope that driver burns and die in hell.