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When I woke up the morning after Hunter died, the first thought that ran through my mind was, He’s not here. He’ll never snuggle with me again.

What was I supposed to do with all of Hunter’s clothes? Box everything up and put them in storage? Should I give some of them to my nephews Ben and Zac? Zac was only eleven days older than Hunter, so Hunter’s clothes would probably have fit him. But that would be so hard. His shirts especially held precious memories. As I mentioned in the journals, the last year of Hunter’s life he lost his involuntary blink, so we had to put special gel in his eyes every hour to keep his eyes moist. Inevitably the gel would get all over Hunter’s shirts, and it wouldn’t come out in the wash. I just couldn’t imagine giving his little gel-stained shirts away.

What about all his Rescue Heroes? He had every one of the action figures and all the vehicles and accessories that went along with them.

I didn’t want the two huge oxygen tanks to leave either. We’d had oxygen tanks in the house before Hunter was even born; they were familiar to us. Jim’s mother, Alice, had been on oxygen because of her emphysema. When she died, the tanks left. And then a year and a half later, Hunter was diagnosed with Krabbe disease and the tanks came back. I missed the sound of the air bubbling through the water attached to the tank.

What am I supposed to do with Hunter’s Quickie wheelchair? And should we sell Hunter’s van made special for him? The van Hunter and Robert cruised around in the first day Hunter ever rode in it? The van we only had for two months before Hunter died?

What about his therapy vest? Unique memories were literally plastered all over it in an array of colorful stickers filled with meaning. Before we would put any stickers on Hunter’s vest, we’d always show them to him first to get his approval. He would blink once for “yes” to let us know if he liked the sticker. If he didn’t blink, it didn’t go on. There were three Spider-Man stickers on the vest along with four glittery frog stickers. A big sticker of Davey and Goliath was on the front of the machine. Hunter loved Davey and Goliath. My aunt Dodie, one of Hunter’s nurses, searched everywhere for videos and other Davey and Goliath paraphernalia. Hunter even had a lunch box with the dynamic duo on it.

“U.S. Army” and “God Bless America” stickers were on the vest machine, too. My mother gave Hunter the nickname “Soldier Boy” because he was so incredibly courageous and brave. As I looked at those stickers, two memories came vividly to mind. First, I could hear my mother singing “Soldier Boy” to Hunter in the Jacuzzi. She was always singing to Hunter, and he loved her voice. I knew I’d miss hearing my mother sing.

Then I remembered Hunter’s 2003 Good Scout Award for Bravery, given to him by the Boy Scouts of America–Greater Niagara Frontier Council. Many of our family and friends had attended the awards ceremony. Robert was there to celebrate and support his best friend, too. Having the boys together, decked out in their best attire, was a sight to see. Hunter was feeling good and he looked so handsome.

Before the ceremony I talked to Hunter about the normal protocol when someone receives an award of such magnitude. I explained how important it was for him and our entire family to acknowledge how grateful we were for his honor. We talked about what it means to be truly brave and courageous, and I told him how incredibly brave I thought he was.

Together we wrote an acceptance speech for Hunter’s award. As I discussed with him what he might possibly say to the audience, he’d blink in agreement at the suggestions he liked, and I’d write the words down. I only wanted Hunter’s words to be heard, not mine.

Here’s what Hunter said in his acceptance speech after receiving the Good Scout Award for Bravery:

First of all, I just have to tell you that I’m feeling pretty important with this fancy shirt and tie on. I only dress up like this once a year for our family Christmas