My life

I woke up today with an irrepressible desire to look at your pictures.

I had put your memory box up high in the linen closet. Out of sight but always on my mind.

I haven't looked at it in over a month. It's been 7 weeks since you came and left, and I haven't been able to bring myself to open "the box". It scares me because it contains the proof that you are gone. The mothers of lost babies all know how fucked up it is that the only things left of their precious gifts are a few small items in a box.

I needed to see your face. I wanted to make sure the picture in my minds eye was accurate. I wanted to hold the little sea shell you held in your only photo shoot on earth. So I took down the box.

I carried into my room and placed it on the bed. I untied the ribbon as if I was once again untying my heart strings. I gently took out all the little items (the pregnancy test, the It's A Boy bracelet, the hat, the tiny gown, the blanket) until I reached the photo album. The green photo album that contained the only proof that you were here on earth. I held it in my hands for a minute, waiting for the courage to face the emotions I knew were inside of it. Finally I opened it.

I wept with all my being. You weren't just a dream. There you were. So handsome. So perfect. My little surprise gift.

The pictures in my minds eye were exactly right.

So traumatic. So tragic. This is my life.

I miss you Leo. With every ounce of my being.