It's been about a year since you were with us. The anniversary of the most terrible news from the doctor is coming up within a few days and you've been on my mind a lot lately. Had you stayed with us, you'd be almost six months old today. My, how times flies.
I wonder a lot about what you would have been like. What you laugh would have sounded like, which one of us you would have resembled more... which baby foods you'd have taken to faster and whether you'd start crawling by now or not...
It still hurts to be without you. I still want to cry occasionally at the loss of you. There's a piece of my life that I had become ready and excited for that was just ripped from my future as well as my body, and I'm still not okay with that. Honestly, I don't think I ever will be fully okay with this fact.
Matt is still cautious about it. I don't think he's ever gotten over you either. Sure, he acts strong and tries to be the rock that I can depend on and to be the strong and stable one for me... but underneath I think he's still grieving. He'll never admit it of course...
I like to think that you aren't really gone. That you're just waiting for another opportunity, when we're more ready, more stable, and surrounded by people we love rather than being secluded in a third story apartment an hour away from anyone that I'd ever have a slight chance of meeting.
I hope to meet you one day, Baby. Because right now I miss you... and I'd love to put a face to a wish.
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