The sun is just rising this morning. It's deep orange haze is bursting through the velvety sky creating the beginnings of a beautiful masterpiece.
I sit here and remember another sunrise. Six years ago. A sunrise that followed a sleepless night, a night where I know I needed rest more then than any other night, but a night I wanted to be alert through. Your last night safe in my womb. I wanted to feel every little squirm you made, every tiny bounce and jiggle and just embrace my expanding belly one last time. That early morning came too fast, and had us set off to the hospital to take those steps we had dreaded, prayed for, longed for and hoped for since finding out about your condition.
There have been a lot of sunrises since then. Some filled with darkness and deep sadness that simply I can't explain. Some that make the void of you not being here so huge that I feel entirely swallowed up by our loss. Some sunrises have been tickled with pink laughter and love, that make our hearts sing with joy... but all the while there is that place in my heart that just longs to look over the edge of my bed, or look over to the empty seat at the dinner table and see your big dark eyes smiling with us. Laughing and giggling with your sisters. Running up to Dadda for tickles, and then running to me for an escape. For me to kiss your knee when you run a little too fast and fall down. To tell you to love your baby sister even if she destroys the lego house you spent all day making, and to make sure you don't pull all the heads off your big sister's barbie dolls!
My son, today we remember the day we got to see your face, and hold your tiny hands while you fought to stay with us. We wonder what life will be like things had been different. But we are left with just these precious memories of the very short time with you, and long for the day when we can see you again.