Another month has gone by without you. It has been a challenging one. Your little brother developed a respiratory sickness. We brought him to the emergency room, and spent three nights in the hospital. He had respiratory syncytial virus, which then caused bronchiolitis. The doctors said that it was basically a fancy way of saying he had a cold, but that in babies, colds can be really dangerous. As I held your brother in my arms, watching his chest rise and fall as he was hooked up to an oxygen machine, I thought about how maybe something similar had happened to you. Perhaps you got a sickness that would not be serious in an adult. But then we missed your distress and were not able to help you in time. I will never be okay with not knowing what happened to you. And I will never be okay with not having you here.
We went to Kentucky for a week to see grandpa. And I saw some people who I had not seen since I was pregnant with you. I am in a safe little bubble now, and I really only interact with people who have been by my side since you died. So it was a bit overwhelming to see other people, to be returned to a time period before I knew the heartbreak of your death. And I looked at grandma’s computer and saw some pictures of me when I was pregnant with you. A different life. I had therapy today, and the therapist said that in someways it did not seem like it was that long since I started to come and see her, shortly after your death. To me, it seems like a life time ago. I don’t remember who I was really before I had you, and lost you. I don’t remember a reality before I was your mother. Twenty months. It has been twenty months.
I go back to work this month. I remember going back to work after you died. It was overwhelming–hard. It is different this time, but still hard. Sometimes (often times) it all feels so overwhelming.
This week has brought record cold temperatures. The world has seemed off kilter since your death–like once you died, we entered an alternate reality, where all sorts of things that shouldn’t happen happen.
Anyway, my beautiful dear little boy. I miss you. I love you. Another month without you in my arms.
I love you, always and forever.