You Would’ve Been…

f o u r  m o n t h s  o l d.

Dear Sterling,

I adore you, little one. My love for you knows no bounds and continues to grow with every passing day.

Another month passes and I find myself saying the same thing I always say. Today, you would have been.

I close my eyes and let myself imagine what you might’ve looked like, how big would’ve grown. I dream of the beauty in your smile and the magic in the sound of your laughter. I imagine what this moment would have been like if you were here and I yearn.

I long for that life, where I’d be doing my best to capture a photo of a wilde and wiggly 4 month old, as bright blue eyes catch glimmers of light and gleam brilliantly.

Instead, I open my eyes and it all disappears. Gone. Your whole life and all my dreams for you and our family is just ripped from my grasp and every time, it feels like the first time. It feels like I am losing you all over again.

I miss you so much, darling baby. And that is the understatement of the year.

I love you forever and ever. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

Blanket Sniffing

Dear Sterling,

It is a hard day. I am overcome with grief. I can’t move. I can’t speak. I can barely breathe. I can only sit and wish you were here. So I gather your things and climb back into bed. Your sloth. Your little woobie. Your blankets.

Three little blankets that tell the entire story of your life. One you were wrapped in right after you were born. The next you were swaddled in during our one day at home. Lastly, the one you were wearing when you died.

I hold your things tightly up against my chest, wishing it were you instead. Desperately trying to soothe the burning hole that aches for you, I press them into me.

You should be here.

I find myself anxiously searching for your leftover scent that might be still lingering in the fabric. If I’m lucky, I’ll find it.

I sniff the elephant blanket, the blanket the midwife gave us and wrapped you up in a couple hours after your entrance into the world. This is the one that held onto your smell the longest, but I’m afraid that time is up.

I sniff the one you died in, but that one mostly just smells like the hospital. Not what I was looking for, but still enough visceral memory attached to that hospital room scent that brings me a little closer to you.

And finally, the one I swaddled you in the morning after your birth. After a night of snuggles and breastfeeding, after I dressed you in your one little outfit. The one I unswaddled from around you, going against Daddy’s warnings of disturbing a sleeping baby, so I could snap photos of you to share with the world.

And thank God I did because if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have my favorite picture of you. The photo that sits as my phone screen wallpaper and is framed and hung on our wall.  The same photo that I used for your birth announcement and on the cover of your funeral programs.

I sniff and sniff until suddenly, I breathe in a familiar newborn fragrance, sweet and subtle, that warms me to my core. And just like that, I find you.

“Oh, there you are, son. Hi baby. I love you.”

Homesick

Dear Sterling,

It’s hard to be here, sometimes. At home.

Yes, its where you were born. It’s where you lived for one whole day before the hospital days.

But when I’m here, all I see are the empty spaces where you should be.

I see the holes where your cosleeper should be, where stacks of tiny diapers should’ve been stored.

I feel a physical pain, a burning hole in my chest that radiates down throughout my arms and reaches my fingertips. My entire body just aches for you.

I yearn for you constantly. My mind, body, and soul are so aware of your absence.

I see glimpses of you all around this place. It’s as if my mind etches you into the places you would be if you were here, because it knows I just can’t bear to live without you..

They say home is where the heart is, but a part of my heart died along with you and I’m left learning how to live this way.

I will never be whole here. I will never be at home here. There is no home for us without you in it.

I wonder

You would have been 3 months old today. And it hit me last night that this is all I know.

No stats, no milestones, no chance to see your personality come alive.

I don’t get to be amazed by the rate you’re growing or hear first laughs and giggles.

I never even got to see you smile.

No first foods or first steps or scrubbing walls where you’ve left scribbles.

No first day of school or first date, first car or first job.

No wedding day, no grandbabies, no chance to see you become a man.

All those dreams, gone. They died along with you.

And now all I have left is to wonder.

Naptime

Dear Sterling,

It’s naptime now. Ever is sleeping in her crib. Oliver is having trouble falling asleep. I lay beside him in his bed, stroking his dark hair, amazed at how much he resembles you.

Oliver rolls his Lego Spiderman between his hands. I wonder if you would’ve liked Spiderman and Lego too.

Oliver points out the light that makes its way past blackout curtains and illuminates an empty spot on the floor. A void where your crib would’ve gone. The crib isn’t here and neither are you. My heart breaks a little more.

Oliver sees through my strong exterior and places his hand on my face, sensing the shift in my mood. He runs his fingers through my hair and tells me it’s beautiful.

“I like purple,” he says. I wonder if you would’ve liked it too and what kinds of things you would’ve said to melt me the same way Ollie does.

I tell Oliver to close his eyes and think of the best day and maybe he will go there in his dreams. He closes his eyes.

“The beach,” he says, eyes still closed with a smile on his face.

I wonder if I’m the only one who spends every second thinking of you. The thought makes me sad.

“The beach,” he says again, his smile widening, “…and we could pick up Sterling from heaven and take him with us.”

We are always thinking of you, darling baby.

Your First Bath

Not exactly how I always pictured it would be, but I’ll take it.

You were so swollen because your poor, little kidneys weren’t doing well. And then somehow, something in you started healing because you started peeing. You peed all over your nurse. It was so funny.

This is one of the most bittersweet photos I have in my camera roll. Some days, I see this and it cracks me up. Other days, it kills me.

I remember how much hope we had in this moment and how it all came crashing down a few hours later when we learned you were in a coma. It just depends on how I see the world that day.

Today, its a good day or at least, this moment is a good moment. I wish you were here so I could give you a proper bath, but I’m happy I had the chance to bathe you at all.

I love you, darling Sterling.

Magic

Sweet boy,

Last night, I dreamed of you. You were alive.

I remember you being sick but you were alive and well enough to be home with us. Your Mimi (my mom) came over to help me gather up all the kids and take you to a doctor’s appointment.

We were already behind schedule, but I decided to nurse you before we left, even though we would be running a few minutes late. I vividly remember this, almost as if it really happened.

You latched on to the right, while warm breast milk leaked out of the left and ran down my side, soaking my shirt. When you were full, I handed you to Mimi and laughed as I went to change my shirt before running out the door.

And then I woke up.

If this would’ve been real, I would’ve taken this moment for granted. But not having you here makes me appreciate the mundane and sometimes chaotic moments with my living children more than ever before.

Just another gift you’ve left behind, my darling son. Thank you for the ability to see the magic in little every day moments.

Potty Humor

My sweet Sterling,

Oliver told me all about you in heaven.

He told me you’re probably walking and talking up there, which is impressive, considering you’re only a month old.


I asked him what you say and this is what he told me:”He’s hilarious. He makes jokes about poopies.”

And I’ve been laughing about it all day. I know you would’ve been so funny, just like your big brother.

I can’t wait to hear your silly jokes and the beautiful sound of your laughter.

Always missing you, darling boy.