Einstein theorized the relativity of time. Now I’m not a scientist or have ever claimed to be one, but I think I could explain it in simple words. Time changes speed from different reference points in ones life. Maybe that’s even confusing. An example might be better, Jensen was born eleven weeks ago; it feels like yesterday and forever ago at the same time. Even thinking back to Sunday, Father’s Day, it feels like Jensen’s birth happened after Sunday. Tuesdays always bring me back to the day he was born, but time is relative. My ‘reference point’ or thought process today is all about Jensen… but then it hits me, it’s really been that long since we were last together.

Either Einstein is crazy with all his theories or grief is just making my mind clouded with the thought of his theories.

Eleven weeks. Instead of celebrating with Jensen today, I’ve been to therapy and will being going to a support group tonight. I’m trying with all my might to be focused on me today.  This isn’t fair. He should be growing bigger and his blond hair becoming more and more wild. He’d be growing out of his 0-3 month clothes, but believe me, he’d have plenty of clothes to grow into. I want to touch his button nose and kiss his cheeks. Instead of this quiet house, I should hear his coos and even his cries. I would do anything for a loud, messy house.

Another one of my favorite ultrasounds. I can see his lips and his hand, always by his face. His cute little heart-shaped face like his momma. Jensen was such a lively baby and would only cooperate if I talked nicely to him. It was so funny, the ultrasound techs would tell me he was stubborn and wouldn’t let them get the ‘right’ picture. I would just say, Jensen please do what they want you to do. Then he would. Sometimes he’d cover his face with his hand and move it to where the ultrasound wand was, so ornery. Twice a week I would waddle to and from my car to go look at my sweet boy. I probably looked crazy, even then, I would just always be talking to him alone and in public. He’d always let me know he was listening.

I’m so thankful to have all of his ultrasounds. They make me smile. This is how I’ll always remember him and our time together; him dancing in my belly and sticking his tongue out at me. He would practice his breathing and just shake his body. When I look at even one of his ultrasounds, I am pulled back to every single time I went to one. Each time he grew so much bigger, even in three days. I love feeling him grow and learning his likes and dislikes at such an early age. Yes even as a little baby in my belly, he let me know. I guess he’s more like me than I ever thought.

Those thirty-eight weeks was the best time of my life.

Here’s a secret and I don’t even know if I should share it. We got Jensen’s hospital pictures close to two weeks ago. I wish I could say that I’ve studied all of them, have my favorite one, and am in the process of printing them out so I can have his little face in my house. But that would be a lie; they sit in his drawer untouched. Do you know how horrible it is to not be able to look at your child’s pictures? They’ve been so beautifully explained to me and every part of me wants to study every part of those seventy images. I just can’t.

They’re so different from his ultrasound pictures. My lively, little boy isn’t in those pictures. What if they don’t bring me my big smile like his other photos? What if I can only see death? What kind of mother would I be if I had negative feelings towards looking at these seventy images? Death, so ugly. I just want to see my little love’s face. It’s not fair that the only time I can look at him is in his pictures. People have thousands of pictures of their babies, I have seventy pictures. I’ll never get anymore. Maybe the pain in that truth hurts more than just seeing death. I’m not sure.

It shouldn’t have to be a thought in my mind.

Death shouldn’t have crept in my body and took my son.

Jensen, I hope in this eleven weeks you’ve felt comforted by my love. I hope you see all that we do for you and know you will never be forgotten. You will always be my sweet, little love and the joy of my life. The thirty-eight weeks we had together were my favorite in my life. Your life was short, but so big. I love you and I miss you. You’ve made this world a much better place.