Get your tissues ready. This is a one-shot that I wrote on a whim, dedicated to Inmyownwords

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I walked past the door. Usually it was closed, but today, I knew it would be open and my wife would be inside.

Usually this day was filled with romantic gestures and beautiful cards and candies; ironically for us, Valentine's Day was filled with heart ache and grief. After spending hours in bed, my wife would slowly creep to his bedroom and sit in the room that hadn't changed in 8 years. The paint was still the royal blue that it had been when we painted it. All of his clothes were still hanging in the closet.

She wasn't herself at all anymore. Everyone noticed whenever they were around her. We received pitying glances whenever I finally got her to leave the house. The once vibrant and intelligent girl had become a shell of a human and could barely function due to her grief.

But I loved her. I still love her and I loved him. They told me that with each day, she would get better, but every day she got worse; and everyday that she died a little more inside, I was dying with her.

We had tried so hard to have a baby. She was almost coming to terms with the fact that she would never have biological children of her own. We were going to look into adoption as soon as we could schedule an appointment, but then a miracle happened.

She was pregnant. She was ecstatic and so was I. We went and bought everything we thought that a baby would want.

Finally, Our healthy baby boy, Noah Bryant Thomas was born at midnight on January 10. She didn't want to put him down when the nurses placed him in her arms.

Little Noah was the perfect baby and he followed the growth pattern perfectly. He was slowly beginning to say some words.

Then came the walking and my wife cried as she watched Noah take his first steps. The pediatrician said that she had never seen a baby follow the development schedule so wonderfully.

A few months before his second birthday, things started to go wrong for little Noah. His eating was a little off and his coordination was lacking. The little boy that perfected walking, was starting to seemingly trip over air.

My wife insisted that nothing was wrong, but to make sure, we took him into the pediatrician, who referred us to a children's hospital, who then referred us to a genetic neurology specialist.

We were both scared of what could possibly be wrong with our Noah.

About two months since we began to notice changes in Noah's development, the doctors diagnosed him with Krabbe's Disease.

Of course we had no possible idea of what it was or how our son had contracted it. When the doctor sat us down and told us what it was and that there was no cure, my wife sobbed uncontrollably for almost 3 whole hours.

There was nothing we could do but take him home and make him comfortable.

When he turned two, we noticed more symptoms of the disease. Noah couldn't walk on his own anymore. The frustration in his eyes killed me. He couldn't understand what was happening to him. He wanted to walk on his own.

There were several nights where I sat up crying, because I had to be strong for my wife. She needed me and Noah needed me and I was going to be there for both of them.

At 27 months old, his speech was unintelligible. He could still say Ma, which made my wife tear up every time she heard it. We took him as many places as we could. We wanted him to see everything he could. My loving wife quit her job so she could spend every moment she could with our baby. We visited several cities in America and visited Brazil in South America.

We wanted to take his little mind off of his sickness, if just for a little while.

When Noah reached 32 months old, he lost his vision. He cried the whole day when he realized he had opened his eyes, but couldn't see anything.

When he calmed down, we read to him. He found comfort in our voices. It must have been so frightening to be 2 and not be able to see anything.

The worse feeling in the world is seeing your child suffer and not being able to prevent it or stop their suffering. There were so many times that I lied awake, wishing that I could be the one to take away his pain.

By his third birthday, he could no longer swallow, so he had to be fed through a tube. The doctor said that he would go any day. I didn't have the heart to tell my wife, who rarely left his small bed. She spent hours humming to him and reading him stories.

Noah couldn't respond to anything anymore, we watched him waste away for days.

It was 7:00am on that February 14 when Noah took his last breath. I couldn't pull my wife off of Noah's small body.

She rocked him in her arms one final time before we made the proper arrangements for his burial.

She never wanted anymore children after Noah. Every time one of our friends mentioned their children, she would go silent and excuse herself from the room.

I know that she will never be herself again, so vibrant and full of life. It tears me apart to see the obvious tear tracks that run down her face. She believes that Noah's death is her fault. She never knew that she was a carrier of the disease.

Her pain is evident in every statement that she rarely makes. She doesn't leave the house anymore if she has to.

If Noah was still alive, he'd be off at his first year of Hogwarts, engaging in some mischief.

I watched my wife as she buried her face in her hands. Her sobs resonated throughout the entire house.

"Luna?"

"I'm not finished, yet. Dean, you can't ask me to move on…I'm not…He was,…" I pulled her into my chest and let her cry to her hearts content.

"I know that I can't be what you need anymore…" The tears were already falling onto her beautiful, blond locks.

"Shhhh, We need each other. He would want us to be there for each other."