One year ago, you were in my arms. I was kissing your forehead and holding you close to me. And now... one year later... I am holding your book and kissing a photograph. And missing you. Terribly. My heart is heavy and cracked at the seams... My arms miss you and are aching to hold you. It is so hard to know that, no matter how severe the ache, it will never be filled. Not in this world.
People think that your broken heart can somehow be mended when you have another child. A child who lives. But they are wrong. They have never endured a loss that has no comparison. They have never suffered a break in their heart for which there is no mending.
A Mass was celebrated in your memory today. We missed it because we were feeding and changing and preparing for the visiting nurse who was coming t0 assess your baby brother and sister. Is this how it happens? Is this how life creeps in and slowly erodes the few moments we have left together?
My sweet cuddlebug, my Alexander. I love you so much. I ache with the desire to have you in my arms again.
We're taking your siblings to the mountains today in honor of your birthday. It's the place that we've both felt you telling us you wanted us to go for your special day. We may see it all through car windows, but we will go. And you will be there with us. And again tonight, when we bake birthday cake and have your birthday dinner. One year. You are one year old.
So short a time.
Yet, a lifetime.
Happy Birthday, Alexander. We love you more than words can say.