I miss Samuel today. I tried to memorize his smell the day he was born. Some days I can remember it. Some days I can’t. Today, my belly is still. No kicking. No dancing. No sweet baby boy to keep me company. I miss Samuel today.
His professional pictures came in the mail today. I needed to see these. I needed to remember his fingers. His size. His little mouth and cleft palate. I needed to remember his feet. I needed to remember how I held him. I needed to remember how Steven looked at him, how we cried and smiled at the same time.
I wish I could remember his smell today. I’m glad I can remember what he looked like. I wonder if he will remember me. Sometimes I’m afraid he won’t. He never saw me. I saw him, but he never saw me.
I hurt today.
The birds are singing outside, and it feels like spring is mocking me. My heart is still lost in winter, behind a cold glass in a quiet house where Sam is absent. It feels like I’ve been banished from the land of blessing. God, please remember us. We hurt.