I'm being bombarded with Mother's Day commercials and propaganda.
This is the best and the worst day of the year. I get to celebrate my children, while mourning for one.
In just under two weeks, it'll be Henry's first birthday. I realized that earlier this week, and it took my breath away. My mind suddenly started flashing images of what should have been. Jason and I should be planing his party, renting out a space, holding his chubby little fingers as he takes his first toddling steps. Amelia should be busy teaching him to be naughty and how to get cookies for breakfast. We should be elbow-deep in diapers and having family snuggle time. We should be laughing, crammed into our little house, full of love.
Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.
Being in a completely different place may be helping. I've got wonderful support, but my chest still aches. My arms ache to hold him. I hold babies all the time - but none fit the space where Henry was supposed to be.
We're going to make bandanas/headbands for the Faith's Lodge 5k next weekend ( http://tinyurl.com/walkforhenry ). I chose a bright yellow color, to remind myself that he's here, in the sunbeams. I try to imagine him snuggling with my grandparents in heaven - but I just keep on visualizing what he would have looked like today. His hair would be brown, and his eyes would have started to turn to green. He'd actually start to look more like Jason, but his hair curling would curl like mine used to - so unlike his big sister. And this is why I can't breath anymore. My chest aches, my arms ache.
I don't know how Mother's Day is going to hit me. I've been dreading it since we first learned of his diagnosis.
