Bram is my third son. He was born March 13th 2010, and it was the most amazing birth in the world. Painless and joyful, quick and easy. He was such a mellow baby, loved to nurse.
On Saturday November 17th we were off to get family pictures. We arrived on time for our appointment but the studio was running extremely late. My boys, as usual, wanted to snack but no food or drink was allowed. My husband took the 3 oldest boys (ages T 7, K 4.5, and Bram 2.5) to the car to snack on oranges. The parking lot was small, and what many would consider a safe parking lot. It wasn't busy at all and the distance from the shop to the last parking spaces was still close to the building and what I would consider good parking any day.
I stayed in the photo studio with the baby (9 months at the time) to wait for our appointment. It wasn't long after that the photographer told me it was almost our turn so I went ahead and poked my head out of the door to my husband to let him know it was almost our turn. The boys had sat in their car seats eating oranges. He gathered them and had them stand next to the car, as we always do. My husband turned to close the door, and a lincoln navigator came in the parking lot, not paying attention, the driver hit Bram. It took as long as it took to close the door. Think of that length of time, think of how many times that was you.
His face torn, his skull crushed. Blood sliding down the parking lot. The death certificate says time of accident to death is seconds but I felt his pulse, and I felt it fade as I screamed for help. I watched them doing CPR, breathing into him, and it was of no use. 29 minutes after the car hit him, he was dead. 11:07 am. 2 years, 8 months, 3 days, 11 hours, and 59 minutes on earth.
My chest exists as a black hole, a sucking void. I'm breathing and that's all I've got.