I Still Miss You

Dear Alma,

I still miss you. The pain of losing you has lessened, but there are still days when the grief hits full force. Today is one of those days. Questions come. Why did I have to lose you? Why did I have to say goodbye before I even got to say hello? Why aren't you here? 

I miss the weight of you in my arms, and then I think that you should actually be three right now. Three years old! In August you're going to turn four. That sounds so old to me. Four years since I last felt you kick. Four years since I saw you moving on the ultrasound screen. Four years since I gave birth to you in a dim, silent room. Four years since I held you for the first time in my arms, and for the last time, too. Four years. 

I wish I could say that I miss the sound of your voice, your cry, your laugh. 

I wish I could say I miss the color of your eyes and getting up with you in the middle of the night. 

I wish I could say I miss carrying you around in your car seat, you getting heavier at each doctor's appointment. 

I wish I could say I miss seeing you crawl because you're walking and running around now.

I wish I could say I miss hearing you say, "Mom." 

I wish I could say I miss playing and reading to you.

I wish I could say I miss seeing you play with Aidan and Kimball in the morning since you go to preschool now.

There are so many things I wish I could say. But I can't because I never heard you cry, or saw you open your eyes, or even brought you home. I never will in this life, and I guess that's the hardest thing right now. I can't experience you here every day...I can imagine you as a baby, but I can't really imagine you as a three-year-old.

What would you be like? Would you be obsessed with cars, trucks, planes, and trains like Aidan? Would you know your ABC's and know how to count to 10? Would you still be taking naps? Would you love to read? Would you like primary? 

I wish I knew.

I want you to know that I'm grateful families are forever (it's true - they are!) and that your dad and I are fighting for that. We will teach Aidan and Kimball to fight for it too. We want to see you again and be together again! Oh, it will be such a joyous day. 

Yes, my dear boy, I still miss you. And even though I miss you so much right now, I want you to know that I love you. I love you so much, and I am grateful to be your mom.

I hope you're having a blast with all the other kids up there watching over their parents, too. Have a good day in heaven, today. 

I love you,

Mom