I haven’t been able to write. I can’t find words these last few days. I wanted to post happy memories of my pregnancy, inspired to do so by a post on a support board. I still want to write about your birth. I want to write so much but none of the words will come. No words today, no tears either; even going to my Make-Me-Cry playlist hasn’t eased this. I hurt, but mostly I just feel tired and anxious.

I miss you so much. Sometimes I’m so shocked that you’re never coming back, that I’m never going to hold you again. Other times it seems like you were never here at all. I miss your little kicks. I miss wishing I could have a drink or a cigarette. I miss fretting because you were having a quiet day. I miss how your daddy would sleep with his hand curled around the roundness that was you. I miss how you’d kick him in the back while I was trying to sleep. I even miss being so achingly tired at work that I thought I’d never survive the shift–it’s easier to be there now, but so much lonelier.

Your daddy and I are already talking about “trying again.” But sometimes I feel like that’s disloyal to you. Especially on those days when I feel like you never really were here. Those are bad days. I’m afraid you’ll think we didn’t really love you; that you weren’t the epicenter of our universe. That you didn’t matter. That you don’t matter. Because you do. Oh, you do–there isn’t a moment I’m not thinking of you and missing you. You are and always will be my son, my first child. My beloved.