It was the holiday season before Jack was born, and Dh and I were talking about how exciting the next Christmas would be since we would have Jack. We got on the topic of what we would buy him for gifts and Dh did not hesitate. Every little boy needed a truck. We just had to get him a toy truck.
Fast forward one month to the day before Jack died (he died exactly one month after Christmas). I was sitting next to him in the PICU, and I was basically pleading with him to not leave me. I knew deep in my heart Jack was not going to make it, but to try to shake the horrible thought out of head, I began to tell him about all the things he would have to look forward to once we got to take him home from the hospital. The first thing to pop into my mind was the truck. "Daddy wants to get you a truck for your first Christmas. Won't that be fun to push around the living room? Won't that be nice? That's why you have to get better, because Daddy wants to get you a truck"
DD has quickly learned that Santa brings her toys, and for the past few weeks, whenever we go into Target or any other store for that matter, she insists on heading right to the toy section. After obsessing over every single Sesame Street toy, we wander over to the boys toy section despite my pleas. And there we find all the toy trucks, that as stupid as it may sound, I will never get to buy for my little boy.
Nearly 5 years later, I can't stand the sight of toy trucks. Why is it that the most insignificant things, can cause the most pain? It's not the sight of boys around the age Jack should have been. It's not boys named Jack (although it does make my heart ache a little). It's toy trucks.