Part Twenty-Nine

Christian was four years old and the only child of the late Phillip and Mary Jeffreys. He was a bright little boy and adapted to living with us quite easily after the first two weeks of bed wetting and temper tantrums.

I had new found respect for my parents after dealing with Christian’s tantrums. He’d scream, throw things at my head, cry and hit the wall with his small fists. The first time it happened I was shocked and then I grabbed him, holding him tight against me.

“I’m here, Christian, I’m not going anywhere. Scream and cry as much as you need to.” I’d take his pain, his guilt at surviving and the confusion of his loss as he slumped against me and cried himself to sleep.

I assumed the role of caregiver and took over the responsibilities of taking him to daycare and putting him to bed. It was also the first time in my life that I had to pack a school bag. It took my mind off things as I was kept busy with his schedule and mine.

His room used to be the spare guest room. It had a d