This morning Rascal happened to be snooping in my closet and pointed to a hatbox on the upper shelf.
RASCAL: Hey Mom, what’s in there?
ME: Oh, that’s Jacob’s box.
In there? The only outfit he ever wore, the funeral remembrances, cards, the handprint kit the Hospice gave us, and the ultrasound photos from when he was alive. Those make me cry still.
He would have been eight.
RASCAL: Awww. Poor Jacob.
ME: No, he’s not poor. He’s in Heaven. He’s happier than any of us.
RASCAL: (realization dawning) Oh yeah, that’s right. Happy Jacob!
Always remembered. Always in our hearts. Happy 8th birthday, Baby Jacob. We miss you, but know you are happy and that comforts us more than anything.