Please pray.
We are on our way to Havasu and it’s probably the most difficult thing I’ve done since preparing for Tanner’s Celebration of Life.
I’m a wreck. I haven’t been able to think about this trip without bursting into tears, but I have to pull the bandaid off. The first time back will never be easy, no matter how long I wait.
Our last visit to Havasu was the last week I spent with my baby.
My last dune buggy ride with him.
My last time to snap a series of silly faces.
My last photo of him dancing.
His last cannonball into a pool.
The last photo I have of my baby with his brother.
They are my last happy memories with my baby.
It’s also where I now look back and see the first signs he was dying, even if no one knew it then.
My. Heart. Shatters.
And now, we are setting off on our first family vacation without the whole family. We are missing such an important part. We are missing our heart. There is so much sadness but I’m trying to focus on the good.
One of my favorite stories from his last week came after a morning when I woke up to realize Tanner had beat us up. When I offered breakfast he was hungry and very happy to have some help.
Later that night, my fiance decided to get smart and set-up Tanner’s breakfast for him in advance. Everything was out except the milk.
A little after 1am, I heard a rustling in the kitchen. I went out to look and there was Tanner, happy as a clam, eating his Lucky Charms.
“I did it mysef!” he excitedly told me.
“You got the milk yourself?” I asked.
“Yep! Da milk mysef!”
He was so proud of his independent “mysef” moments, and so was I. He gave me a thumbs up and went back to his midnight snack.
I’ve framed all these photos and they will be there with us. Tanner and the memories of him in Havasu will be with us.
Not that he’s ever left my mind and heart for even an instant.
Please pray for peace. Pray my pain doesn’t cast a shadow over the family or this trip. Pray we can have some special moments as a new family. Pray we can remember Tanner joyfully — because he was truly joy. Pray for a sign from him.
And pray we don’t melt in 122 degree heat.
Love you, my Tanner-man. Watch over us. Watch over me. 
