I have not made a specific promise to Kade since he died, per se. “Promises to him” seem to be sort of revealing themselves as my grieving morphs and changes.
From this parent’s desire that her son not be forgotten, a promise takes shape to speak his name. From the drive to remember and honor him, and to feel the familiarity of ritual, a promise develops to celebrate his life on his anniversary date, birthday, and holidays.
When I think of Kade and promises, it brings me back to middle-of-the night feedings with my newborn almost 24 years ago. I brought him to the cushy reclining rocking chair in the living room of our little apartment so as not to wake his dad. I turned on the TV for dim light (reruns of Gilligan’s Island). I whispered promises upon his sweet little head with the fervor of a new parent: I will protect you. You will always be loved. I will give you what you need. You will have a good life.