16 months

July 10, 2014.

It’s been 16 months. Today wasn’t as hard of a 10th as I stayed busy at work. I teared up a bit when a song from Luca’s birth playlist came on, and I looked at our family picture.

That one beautiful picture we have, where we are holding and kissing him.

He’s never far from my thoughts. There isn’t a minute of my day where my stream of thinking doesn’t meander back to my son.

But as her arrival approaches, I spend less time doing the rituals I had done everyday, and guilt comes over me for it.

I don’t ever want to feel that far away from him that I don’t include him in my day, or honor him, or talk to him, or send him my love.

I would do all of that, had he lived, so why really, should it change simply because his physical body left?

I struggle with internal dialogue and dilemma as a bereaved parent. And I try, I do, to let it continue to pry me right open, in the hopes I can continue to expand and make the best damn lemonade out of these beautiful bitter lemons life has given me.

But. I settle down at the end of my day, no longer in busy mode. The 10th.

I can’t help but ache.

Over losing Luca, over being cut wide open with the immense loss of my son and life as I thought it was about to be. Being present, understanding now the image of holding Luca in my arms with his toes touching the ocean water for the very first time, is just a daydream. That wasn’t part of his story. It wasn’t part of my story. That, like so many images I had conjured up in my mind, will never happen, with him.

One can’t help to hold onto a daydream now and again.

I know he wasn’t a daydream. I know he existed. I know most of our loved ones are his loved ones.

Today I was reminded when I came home from work, and in our living room, for the first time since we moved last June, were all of his books. I have just touched these books twice since Luca died.

I open them up and read the inscriptions from our friends to our unborn son, and I feel the love all over again.

16 months later. With so much more love on the horizon. With all the books that we hope to read to his sister, staring me in the tear streaked face.

I miss you Luca. Thank you for choosing us to be your mamas. Thank you for blessing us with your sister. Like all your aunts and uncles said- your mamas love you so much.