The day we brought Andrew home from the hospital - he was four days old.

Today is Andrew's birthday. He would have been 31 years old. That's such a strange thing to think about. He's my baby, my little boy and being 31 years old seems old. Old for him at least. He very much was "Peter Pan" in that he would be the eternal child. Although he was grown up when he passed away. (26 years old) he never lost his child like personality. His humor and wit were so refreshing. His intellect was unbelievable. He was such a joy to be around.

His memory is still a joy.

I dreamed about his father last night. In the dream we were together and talking about his passing. That's something we weren't able to do for many reasons and sadly, that's something I really needed. To be able to grieve with the father of my child.

But everyone handles death in their own way and you can't make people react the same way you do. What I need isn't what he needed...and that's hard but okay. I know how much Robert loves Andrew. I know what a good father he was and how much pain he must be in to lose his son. I'm sorry for him and I'm sorry for me. It's just that I can't be sorry for "us" together....and that's sad.