Posted 22 September 2011 - 09:47 AM
I finally had the courage to ask the questions that have been haunting me about Whitt's last moments here on earth...it was the tunnel. The tunnel that drew them just down the road. I recall just how majestic tunnels were to me as a child and apparently they still have that effect. I'm proud my little monkeys have a love for the more simple things, pure experiences, playing outside. Despite this high tech, fast paced world they're forced to grow up in. It seems that while in the tunnel, on your dirt bike, revving your engine makes a sound as though a thousand dirt bikes are running right along beside you. Very cool. This was my precious Whitt's very last happy childhood experience. I can imagine that smile in his eyes and grin upon his little face as he revved his engine, nodded his head as if to say "yeah baby", maybe even giving a big thumbs up to his brother and Ben. That was it. To the tunnel and back home. Only Whitt didn't make it back home. he was only 2 driveways away when that fast paced life wouldn't leave him be,wouldn't let him alone. He's street smart, he pulled over, he ushered that fast paced reality to pass him on by...only it didn't. It hit him anyway. It hit him so hard it knocked his helmet from his head, his dirt bike boots from his little feet and my baby boy landed some 30 to 40 feet away. How cheated. He did nothing to deserve this. He had everything to live for. Out of the entire stretch of road before him and after him, it still had to hit him. Had to hit this very spot. This haunts me. The fear he had to feel, the fear I can see in his eyes when I close mine to try and sleep, that fear when he saw it coming at him, however brief or quickly it happened. No time to bail, no time to think. And then comes the nightmare. Nothing can prepare a mother for seeing her child so broken, so still. Her previous work of art, perfection in her eyes merely moments before, alive. I don't know why I'm sharing this. Maybe I don't want Whitt to pass in vain. My 9 year old baby boy taught me more than any professor ever could. Live, laugh and love as if every day is your last. Listen to the engines roar. Now, how to deal with this.....life without my Whittybug? How do I live the life that I know he would have wanted me to? I need him here to continue teaching me, for I am broken and still a work in progress.....
Hello....my name is Kelly and I'm painfully new to this unfortunately necessary website. I'm a 38 year old divorced mother of three beautiful children. Tucker, my oldest son is 12 (13 on Saturday, September 24th), Claire, my youngest is 8 years old and we recently lost our sweetheart, Whitt. On what was supposed to be the start of a fun-filled weekend of dirt bike riding with friends and family on the kids first weekend after school had so abruptly started back, turned terrifying most feared day of any parents life. August the 19th will never be a good day in all our years left to live without him, we will only be reminded of the day life was so cruel. He was only 9. He should be turning 10 on October the 3rd. He was the glue that held us together, the middle child and adored by both his big brother and little sister. Both of which seem to be doing okay. Counseling is in the works for both of them, although they deny any need nor want. I on the other hand am struggling to breathe. He was my baby boy. We had a bond that was indescribable. I knew he loved me...he showed me how much every day. He was able to look through me, he holds an unbreakable grip on my soul and I ache for him every minute of every day....and I don't know how I will ever make it like this. So painfully saddened, burdened, guilt ridden, filled with dread, anger and could go on and on and on and on........
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ModKonnie, on 22 September 2011 - 06:14 PM, said:
