Every day, all day, memories of my son flood my mind, but mostly my heart. Every day, all day I long to hold him once more. I long to look into his brown eyes that were as big as saucers when he smiled, and as big as the universe when he cried. People say, “I can’t imagine the pain.” They are right, they can’t. Losing a child is more painful than anything I had ever imagined, and much worse.
When you lose a child, you have to start your life all over. You begin with learning how to breathe again. It is the first step, and the hardest, because you just can’t imagine living without your baby. Step two: You have to learn how to talk yourself into getting out of bed to face another painful day. Third: You have to find something or someone that can make this life bearable. These are ongoing, daily steps that I, and every parent who has lost a child has to partake in.
When you lose a child, you lose a part of yourself. You have wonderful memories, and you try to concentrate mostly, on those. The sad memories are always there, always present, but you always try to replace that thought with a beautiful memory in an effort to make the bad one fade—sometimes it works.
Some of the hardest times for me have been to think of my son’s future. When you have a child, you dream of what they will become. How will they look in their tuxedo at prom? Who will be their first love? What will his voice sound like when he enters puberty? Will he pass his driver’s license test? Where will he choose to go to college? What will it feel like to see him graduate? How exciting will it be to watch him get married, better yet…have your grandchild? There are a million “what ifs and should have beens.” All empty questions, with no answers. When you lose a child, their future is no more.
My son lived for eight years and fifty one days. In that short time he loved helping others, loved caring for others, and especially loved to see other children smile. He was a funny boy, with silly jokes. He was a warm person, giving hugs at just the right time. At school, if a student became ill, Harry would take his work into the nurse’s office so that his friends would not be alone. His heart was huge. He was not perfect, but he was perfect to me. Just the sight of him filled my heart with love. His hugs sent me to the moon…and beyond. I can’t share a future with my son, but I can see his legacy live on. A legacy that will keep Harry’s spirit alive forever!
In an effort to honor my son, I created a toy drive 8 years ago, on what would have been his 9th birthday. I gave a memorial birthday party and donated about 50 gifts to Children’s Hospital in Parker, in his name. Over the past 7 years the toy drive has grown, last year we collected 1174 toys! I have not done this alone, as many businesses and schools have joined in, it has become a community effort, for certain. The toys are delivered just before Christmas, making the holiday a bit more cheerful for the children that are at Children’s Hospital. These toys bring smiles to infirmed children. I am hoping when my son looks down, he will see those smiles, and perhaps it will make him smile, too.
My goal this year is to double last year’s collections. I am hoping to gather 2500 toy this year! If you can afford it, please purchase a new or unused toy to any of the locations listed below. Or you can send a check or money order to The Harry Samora Foundation. Toys will be purchased with the proceeds.