I wish I was planning your birthday party right now. I wonder a lot about what you would be interested in at this point. What kinds of toys would you pick out at Target? Would you be walking like a pro yet? What your favorite foods would be? How much hair would you have and how big would you be?
Seeing your new cousins develop so quickly makes me realize the vastness of what we missed out on with you. Everything happens so fast. They're starting to recognize voices and be more aware of what's around them. They're starting to react to smiles and laughter. They're not newborns, already.
They all seem like small things that happen so quickly. Most parents kind of just forget that their children could never smile at them or laugh at them in the beginning. I wish we got anything.
On this very day, one year ago, I was still naive. I wasn't scarred. I remember at this point...I'd gotten SO much done to get ready for you. We'd just finished having our bathroom redone. Our new insurance had kicked in and I wasn't worried about going into labor early anymore because whatever--It had kicked in! I was researching where to get our carseat installation inspected, just in case, and made an appointment at the local CHP office. I'd just started not driving into the office anymore because I didn't want to be far from the hospital in case I went into quick labor. Jeff had just found out that he passed his comps, and there was no more to worry about because he'd gotten his MPA. I'd literally written in my journal: "This time next month, we'll be parents. And I'm sure I'll be sleep deprived and delirious. But that's ok. At this point, I feel like we're ready for a change of pace in our lives. It's scary and exciting all at once."
We were so excited to meet you then. There was so much to look forward to. We were going to be PARENTS. Finally.
We were excited about the life-altering events that were supposed to happen in just a few weeks. But we never once could have predicted that those life-altering events didn't include bringing you home. We were in the safe zone--nothing can go wrong at 38 weeks. Or after that. Right?
I still can't wrap my head around how all of this happened to me. To us. These kinds of tragedies only happened to other people. How could we have prepared ourselves to bring our son's ashes home instead of a living, breathing child?
This has been the hardest year of my life--by far. No one ever plans to lose their child. I never thought I would know that pain. But here I am. Surviving.
I don't really know how, but it's probably because it's the only thing I know how to do. I changed my calendar at work today, and seeing your birthday written on THIS month brings everything rushing back to the forefront. An entire year without you.
I miss you every day. And I know I will for the rest of my life. I'm feeling wistful and nostalgic this week. I wish I could go back to last year and have everything be different.
But there are no genies to grant me three wishes. Or time machines. There's just now. And now, all I can do is do everything I can to keep your memory alive, and do all I can to make sure things turn out different with Bowie.
I miss you, big guy.
This week, instead of buying Luke a birthday present, I would ask anyone that wanted to to give a donation to his team at OC Walk to Remember. I'd love to break $1000 by his birthday next Tuesday...So if you'd like to help us out, please click the logo here:
Thanks to you all for being there this year. I'm quite sure that it would have been MUCH more difficult without having others' stories and pain to relate to. To feel less isolated means everything to me.