Death & Life.

For the last five months, the topics of life and death have almost constantly been on my mind.

Back in September my wife & I had a baby boy who was born sleeping. His name was Theodore Scout. It's so incredibly weird how much you can love someone you never really knew. It's crazy that though I don't have real memories with him, I have memories of dreaming what we would do together. I was going to teach him how to work with his hands, how to not be a dick, to be humble, and how to have real game & class with the ladies (or men). I wanted to teach him that it's manly to have emotions & it's badass to cry. I wanted to always be there for him, even if he was into shit I wasn't.

Though all I had was a few hours to hold his body, I lived a lifetime with him & loved him wholeheartedly as my boy. Papas aren't supposed to outlive their boys. I'm not supposed to have to explain to his older sister why she can't play with him. I'm not supposed to have comfort my wife who breaks down in tears every night. Im not supposed to deal with my marriage deteriorating in grief over this. I'm not supposed to have to struggle with this depression & grief. Honestly I can't handle it.

Death, once feared has become a place of comfort. One day I will rest with my boy. I won't take my own life, I'll live it for my girls, but I am okay with facing off with death.

I know things will eventually less shitty, but a huge part of me will always be broken and missing without my Teddy.

-JDB 2/4/17