walking with grief

i have been walking through Fritz's routines, asking to feel how the last year and half of his life were, the months that our arms were about him a little less tightly when the boy took his position of primary little one. i can feel the ache of loneliness, longing for activity, adventures outside of the house, longing for the affection and attention that surrounded him before the boy arrived. who would not retreat into sleep under these circumstances? the warm bed in the corner, the nooks where we folded blankets for him throughout the house. who would not follow the owner religiously, staying close by her heels, his heels, to know that they were near when one's eyes no longer see? who would not celebrate every arrival home with gusto, with singing, with dancing, even if one's celebration is ignored - or, worse, shoved and squashed - as they try to keep the boy asleep?