Six months ago today was your birthday. Even though I was sad to not be carrying you anymore, I was so happy to get to see your little face. Today, I am happy and sad at the same time.
It is the end of a season and the beginning of another. Daddy is starting school. We finished our grief support group last night. No more doctor’s visits after tomorrow. And nights are getting cooler. Fall is coming. If you were here, I would have all kinds of warm beanies and little jackets and blankets so we could go for walks together when it really gets cool. But you’re not here.
Sometimes I imagine heaven. Daddy and I talked about heaven when we ate lunch together this afternoon. We wondered what kinds of smells, colors, sounds are in heaven. Can we fly in heaven? Can we run faster? My knee has been bothering me for a couple of weeks and it’s slowly starting to heal, and I’ve often wondered what it will be like to not have a bum knee or crooked back or sore muscles. I wondered if the brokenness of our bodies would be even more apparent after we’re healed in heaven. Like when you don’t realize how sick you felt until after you’re better. I’m glad you’re healed, Baby Boy. I want you to be in heaven, but I miss you.
It’s hard for me to imagine what you look like. Are you just a little soul? Or do you have some sort of a temporary body with fat rolls and pudgy toes? I hear babies laugh, and I wonder what your laugh might sound like. Do you have a crib in heaven? Do you have a favorite blanket? Do angels hold you?
I try not to keep track of what you would have been doing if you were here, as though we’ve embarked on some alternate timeline because of a mistake. I try not to wonder what you would have been doing, and I try to think about what you are doing, but sometimes I do wonder about what you would have been like at six months. And then I’m sad because it isn’t so, but I’m glad because what is so for you is heaven. Sad and happy at the same time.
Happy six month birthday, Baby boy! I will love you forever.