3.16.21 10:34 pm

I’ll never forget the feel of your skin against my lips as I kissed you in my hospital bed. It had the same softness and suppleness of a moving newborn. The checking of every part of you; your eyes, teeth, ears and beautiful fingernails. The bum that looked just like Daddy’s and your brother’s. Your wavy hair and thick eyebrows. Those beautiful lips that are so clearly our baby’s.

I long for a situation in which you could have been ok. I long for a healthy placenta and perfect cord. For a more aggressively managed pregnancy that led to a healthy baby. I can’t fix this. I can’t bring you back. and now all I can think is “be still and know that I am God”. a God that is love. a God that loves my baby boy. a God that can take care of you better than I until I hopefully arrive and am reunited with you.

I process what I can dear Ollie. Bit by bit. Little by little. Crumb by crumb. The pain is too deep. Too rich. Too engulfing. I skim the surface most days and even that is often too much. The love that I have for you knows no limits other than my humanity. Therefore the grief has no limits. and yet her I am. Here I am in the middle of a complicated life with raising your brother, running a business, moving into a rent house, and potentially building our new house. You will never be a was, always an is. Your strength, joy, and beauty are too miraculous to have ever forgotten.