My son passed away. He died on December 8, 2016 from a seizure. He was 21 years old. His name is Brannon.
I miss his hugs. I miss the way he said, "Mom." It sounded like a sheep. I miss his laugh. I miss him.
He had lived in Utah for two months, staying with my parents until he found full time work and worked on becoming an adult. On November 29, my mother-in-law died. My husband flew out on December 1 to Utah and my daughter and I flew out on that Saturday. We spent Sunday, Monday and Tuesday with family and with Brannon.
He was helping clean out Grandma Amott's house. He would stand by me and look down into my face. He would hug me. He teased his sister. He got to know his cousins and aunts and uncles who my kids didn't know because we had moved to Minnesota and because my mother-in-law made visiting and getting to know family really hard.
After the funeral on Tuesday, December 6th, we ate lunch at the church. Kelly, Dara and I had to leave early to get to the airport to fly home. I asked Bran if he wanted to stay and visit with family when we left. He thought about it and then looked at me and said, "No, I want to say goodbye to my family." Did he know? Did he feel that things were going to change?