In a perfect world, I’d be 39 weeks today and heading to the hospital right now for my 7 am appt to meet my sweet baby boy.
But it’s not a perfect world.
I’ve already met my sweet baby boy, 4 months ago. I was 24 weeks. My one and only son was taken from me for reasons I’ll never understand. I can still hear the words in my head like it was yesterday. The moment my world fell apart. The moment my heart shattered. The moment I lost a piece of my soul. The moment life changed forever.
“The baby has no heartbeat.”
We’d known it was a possibility since two weeks earlier at our previous appt. I was scared and I cried and I prayed and I begged. But, I never in my wildest dreams actually thought it could happen to me. I thought God would protect my son and we’d have miracle baby #2.
But he didn’t. I guess we only get one miracle.
Every moment since then I’ve been broken. I’ve been hurting. It hurts more than I could even try to explain. It actually physically hurts. I’ve been sad. Sad to point I’ve cried almost every single day since you left.
I miss you. I love you. I think about you every one of those moments. I hold your small cold urn in my hands and I cry and tell you how sorry I am. How much I miss you. I hold my weighted bear and imagine holding you in my arms again. I dream about what it would be like to have a son. To hear you call me mommy. To feel you wrap your little fingers around mine. I dream about holding you and kissing your cheeks.
But that’s all it is. A dream. A very very sad dream.
Ben, Zenna and I are going to go spread his ashes today. And say goodbye. Again.
Please keep us in your thoughts today. If you see us, give us a hug we probably need one.