Sometimes, while sitting at my computer, I open up the folder where many of your photos are stored. I click through the photos. I cry. I pause on a particular photo that takes my breath away. I touch the computer screen, wishing that instead of a screen, I was able to feel the warmth and softness of your sweet baby skin.

The sadness is catching up to me, enveloping me.


holy trigger: marco polo

Spoiler alert: if you plan to watch the second season of Marco Polo, you will want to skip this post. You have been warned.

My husband, who finished watching the second season of Marco Polo while I was traveling for work, forgot to tell me that there was a surprise boy/girl twin birth.

Talk about a trigger. It set me off on a bad path for the rest of the night. Lots of crying. Hysterics. Picking a fight with my husband for no reason. For the first time in a while, I cried myself to sleep.

I had such a wonderful pregnancy and delivery. My birth experience was one that I could look back on fondly. That has since changed. I am both wistful and angry. And seeing the birth of a baby girl first, then a baby boy, well… it was bad.

I miss my boy so terribly.


I have to take an infant CPR/first aide class for work.

I’m so dreading it. I already have intense images of what I¬†imagine happened at the babysitter’s house when they found Oliver not breathing.

I’m not sure that an 8 hour day filled with infant CPR and first aide is going to be something that I can handle right now ūüė¶

two months

Today marks two months since Oliver’s death.

He was supposed to be the first of my babies to look like me. Avery looks just like Henry when he was a baby, and Henry is a spitting image of dad. But Oliver, he had a different look. I joked that it was about time one of them looked like me, since I did all the work getting them here.

I hate that I’ll never see what he looks like as he would have grown. Looking back on the photos from two¬†months ago, I definitely see changes in Avery¬†since then, and I can’t help but wonder what Oliver would look like now. How long would his hair be? Would it be blonde, like we thought it was starting to come in as? Would his eyes still be piercingly blue? Would he be crawling? Sitting up? Laughing and babbling, like Avery?

It feels so surreal most of the time, but right now, it feels so, so real and it hurts so badly ūüė¶


the first holiday without him

Today is my birthday. I know, it’s not a real holiday. But it’s a day where we get together with family (twice), and it feels like a holiday.

And wow, it’s hard. I smile, and hug my kids and my husband and my family. And I blow out the candle and make a wish. But he’s there, right in the front of my mind. I can’t stop thinking about Oliver, and how he should be HERE. I’m not supposed to be celebrating without him here with me. This isn’t right. It’s not how it was supposed to be.

How can I even fucking celebrate anything? What wish could I possibly make, other than wishing he was in my lap? Wishing I was kissing his chubby cheeks? Wishing with all of my being that I was the one who left this place rather than him.

So now I know, though. I know holidays are going to be happy on the outside, miserable on the inside. A sad undercurrent accompanying an otherwise joyful occasion.

easier, but so much more difficult

I hate that my life with kids is so much “easier” now that Oliver is gone.

Twins are fucking hard. Especially newborn twins. And a toddler. But now, things aren’t really that hard. I mean, other than having a 3.5 year old. That can be trying. But not anything like what a circus act we were, doing anything out of the house.

I want him back so badly. Each time we easily pack up and go to the store, go to an event, go anywhere, it’s a painful, gut-wrenching reminder of losing him. I desperately want to go back in time.


It’s been one month

Dear Oliver,

It has been one month since I last saw you smile. Since I last held you close. Since I last nursed you. Since I last kissed the top of your head. Since I last squeezed your chubby thighs, stroked your cheek, tickled your chin, pinched your toes.

I have survived this past month, but I’m not sure how. It has been, at times, torturous. Grueling. So very painful that I don’t know the word to describe it.

It hasn’t been like that every second of every day, thanks to your sister and brother. They have kept us so busy. But even when they make us smile, even when the pain is lessened by an ounce, we ache for you. We miss you so much.

At night, when your sister wakes up to nurse, this is a very difficult time for me. I often sit with her on my chest, crying. Trying to keep the tears from falling on her head. I will kiss the top of her fuzzy head and pretend…wish…dream that I was kissing the top of your head. You were, after all, the one who kept me up most of every night.

I won’t be able to dream that dream much longer. It won’t work, because her hair will grow longer. And then it won’t be fuzzy, like yours was. And it won’t feel like I’m holding you.

I want both time to move quickly, and to stand still. Each month that passes, each milestone Avery reaches, is so very bittersweet. We wonder what you would be doing. How you would be interacting with her. How big you would be. If you would be rolling over, or jumping in the bouncer, or laughing and smiling nonstop, like she is. But I want time to move faster, to help ease my pain. Although, I don’t know if that will work. And something about this raw wound inexplicably makes me feel closer to you.

“I miss you” doesn’t even cover it. I ache for you. There is a part of me that is forever gone. I feel the emptiness inside. I will never be complete, I will never be full again.

My sweet boy. I can’t believe this is my reality.

With all of my love, forever and always,
Mama ‚̧