Goodbye Thomas. I'm so sorry to see you go. And I'm sorry you never found your dream girl...the one we talked about who has a rock solid testimony and would go to the temple with you, but who would also go to a topless beach in Europe with you and have your babies. Please, if by chance I ever have to take an art history test of some sort, will you come whisper the answers in my ear because I most certainly won't have studied. We will always think of you as the 5th Daines boy. But, as the one I could flirt with because it wasn't icky. Thank you for your friendship, the cuddles, and the interesting, competent discussions on rock 'n roll. I love you. Bdog loves you. Everyone loves you.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Sometimes, when you take your sweet gorgeous baby boy to the neurologist, there are certain words and phrases you never want to hear. Things like "irretractable seizures" and "anomaly" and "permanent damage" and "mental retardation" and "running out of time" and "I don't know". It is enough to make one sink into a funk that cannot be dissipated.