Another month has passed without you physically here and there’s only one more until you turn two.
I’ve been going back to the last few weeks we had together. The whole world was before us. I had never been so excited and nervous for someone to come into my life. You were with me, but I had all these dreams for you outside the womb. I remember being so swollen, but still walking strong and acting like nothing could bring me down. Honestly, nothing could because my baby was about to be born.
How could anything silence that excitement?
In my mind, we had six weeks left for you to get here. That March, I packed your hospital bag, put the car seat in, and felt as prepared as I could. Even though there was probably so much more I needed done. At this point, I was seeing you twice a week at ultrasounds and loved seeing your personality shine though. It brings me to tears not knowing how it would have evolved with you.
When I dreamed of you, I pictured dark hair and chubby cheeks. There were so many dreams during that time; both while I slept and when I was awake.
Last year, as I prepared for your first birthday, all the emotions and memories flooded my mind. It didn’t seem possible a whole year had passed already. I say that and instantly think how long that first year was though. Words flowed through me and I was able to eloquently express the thoughts in my mind. I felt like I needed to because your story had to be told, this grief needed to be out there. All this Love was radiating through me and the only thing I felt like I could do was write it out.
Fast forward to this March, the second March without you. All those same emotions are bubbling inside and that love, it’s only grown stronger with each day that’s passed. I feel them in the ocean of tears that are falling down my face right now. All I want is to hug you so tightly and see you throw a tantrum because you’re nearing your terrible two’s. I want everything that I’ll never be able to have with you. It kills me to know it’s impossible for me to ever get too.
This year has added grief too. Your sister is growing rapidly and her kicks almost knock me to my feet if I’m not ready. Your guys’ due dates are only three days apart and I feel that pressure. Instead of just imagining being pregnant and going through the same routine of when you were in my belly, I’m actually going through it. It’s so hard for me to differentiate the outcome of her birth. I feel as if she’s not born before your birthday, she’s going to be gone too. It’s terrifying and I’m afraid to talk about it all because if I say it out loud it might be true.
There’s a happiness in seeing a lot of your things being passed down to her. I smile when I see your swing sitting in front of me or certain clothes that she’ll wear hanging in her closet. She’ll be wrapped in your blue blankets someday soon and I already see parts of you in her with the scans. You’re so present in protecting her and sending me signs to let me know it’s all going to be okay.
I want you to know I feel you with my every second of the day.
With that happiness comes a great sadness. I wish I could have seen you use all those things. I wish you could lay your head on my belly and feel her kick. I wish you would be involved in welcoming her in a different way. I wish I didn’t have to be scared of the day that took you away.
I just wish you were here.
Keep shining through, Jens. You are forever my little love and light of my life. Happy twenty-three months in heaven.
I love you, always.