Technically, I didn’t lose him, I find that to be such an odd term. I know exactly where he is. His body is buried in a cemetery at my childhood church, just a mile or two from my home. His grave, meticulously maintained during his grandparents’ daily visits, is peppered with tiny trucks, tractors and superhero figures. I drive by that church every day and even after all this time, its still such a stark reminder. There’s a small stepping stone that reads, “If love could have saved you, you would have lived forever.” So true. He was certainly loved. Because of my faith, I know his soul is in heaven with someone who loves him even more than I do. His laughter fills my mind sometimes as if he was right beside me. I can still hear his voice, “Fol, fi, sis. Come find me, mommy,”….