My Dear Shoti

My dear Vito,

As we celebrate your moving-up ceremony to high school, your dad and I are in awe of the compassionate and resilient young man you have grown into. We are incredibly proud of you for completing your homeschool during this pandemic. We didn't foresee our days being tough and marked by loss and heartbreak, yet you stayed steadfast and found joy in the little things. Truly, God has blessed us greatly with you. I pray you continue to nurture your passion and pursue your dreams.

Thinking back to the day I first had you, I recall my water breaking at 27 weeks, even though my cervix wasn't dilated. At the hospital, they informed Dad that they needed to perform an immediate C-section because the amniotic sac was drying out, and to prevent further complications for both of us, I had to deliver you 2 months earlier than my due date. I was terrified, but I fell in love with you when they placed you next to my cheek. They immediately took you to the NICU. When your dad wheeled me to see you, I cried at the sight of you in the incubator with tubes helping you breathe. Yet, you braved your days in the NICU. Our miracle baby! My only favorite part of our NICU journey was the kangaroo care. Each time I held you on my chest, I felt closer to you as your heartbeat was in rhythm with mine, and all my fears disappeared.

We left you alone in the NICU. My doctor discharged me 3 days after the operation. Your ahya Enzo was excited to see you too. He didn't expect I would come home with only Dad. Each day, he awaited his baby brother's arrival until he became impatient. He insisted on visiting you at the hospital. Together, we prayed daily to Jesus to bring you home. One day, Dad decided to take him to see you at the hospital. My heart tightened when he touched the incubator's glass. I felt his desire to touch you but was afraid to do so because you were so fragile. He watched as I held you in the kangaroo care position, and from that moment, he let go of his need for me and allowed me to love you more. He began his journey as your loving ahya.

Fast forward to today. My heart aches for you too. I know you wish for my pain to end. I understand because, like you, I witnessed your grandma grieve when your uncle-ninong passed away. I was upset with my brother for neglecting his health. He was meant to outlive our parents. I imagined us growing old together with your dad. I even entertained the thought of him staying at our house during his retirement. Then I realized I was not angry at him... but I miss him. I was angry at the thought that he would not be around anymore. I will not be receiving any more phone calls or messages from him about our parents, our siblings, his business, his antics, and of course, the fictional love life I always teased him about. You are not far from these emotions now. I understand if you are in pain or angry, but please do remember the years filled with so much love and laughter with your ahya.

The rollercoaster of emotions we experience after losing your brother is unbearable but please know in your heart that you are not alone in this difficult time. It is okay to feel angry and to question why it happened, but try not to get stuck to that feeling. I'm truly sorry you have to see me grieving. But let us not forget that your brother was in so much pain, and despite the love and support we offered, no one could truly help him in the way he needed. He was not spiteful nor unkind; rather, he was a gentle soul who faced his battle that many of us could not see or understand. His passing wasn't meant to hurt you. I want you to understand that it was not your fault or anyone else's; sometimes, life unfolds in ways that are beyond our comprehension. As for why it happened, I choose to surrender those questions and uncertainties to God, trusting that His plan is greater than ours.

You always assured me and Dad that you were not angry, but you chose not to express your emotions. You dismissed it the moment you learned he didn't make it to the hospital, as if acknowledging the situation would somehow make your sorrow real, and this concerned me. However, when you wrote your farewell letter to Enzo, I realized you consciously freed him from his suffering. I adore how you cope with your grief by holding onto Enzo's belongings; you keep his bed, chair, and computer. It reminds me and Dad of the bond you shared, a way to keep his spirit alive in your daily routine. You wear all his clothes, except for his shirts and hoodies in bright yellow and orange. I remember how funny you were when you teased him in those colors, but now those colors are no longer vibrant to me rather a painful reminder of what was lost. When we discussed the possibility of moving houses, you firmly refused the idea, saying there would be no memories of Enzo in the new place. You prefer to stay. I agreed because moving would mean leaving behind not just a location, but a part of our heart.

Thank you, Shoti, for honoring his memory in your special way. We are grateful for your contributions to the church and your involvement at school. You have blossomed into a remarkable, confident young man, just as Enzo hoped you would. I recall when you were younger, taking part in school singing and dancing was challenging for you. Enzo had to be there to encourage you, even standing close to the stage so you could see him sing and dance as well. I used to envy your sibling relationship. It was crazy but affectionate.

Please do not forget you have a brother. Soon, you'll be meeting new people who will ask you if you have siblings. I was asked the same thing too... do you have children? how many children do you have? At first, it was very tough for me, and it will be for you too. I hope you'll answer honestly. There's no need to deny him. I don't want you to hide the fact that you had a brother - a very kind, protective, and caring one. He was your first best friend, confidant, and partner. I know I don't need to remind you of these things because you once said you didn't want to be an only child, but remember, you are not an only child. You always have Enzo, maybe not physically but in your mind and heart.  I want you to focus not on how he died, but on how he lived and loved. I pray that his memory will continue to guide you as you navigate the world on your own.

Your story isn’t an easy one, but it’s yours and has shaped the person you are now. You have surprised everyone from the day you arrived long before we expected. You defy all the physical and emotional challenges since you were an infant. I am confident you will continue to make your way to your bright future. We love you to infinity and beyond, our shoti, our sonshine.

Mom