Your Momma

I remember when my life used to be mine. When my biggest worry was getting to work on time or an argument with friends. I got up each day with the same routine – breakfast, work, lunch, home, dinner, T.V., sleep. My weekends were like most everyone’s. They consisted of a few adult beverages and hanging with friends and family or just hanging around the house with Todd. That was before I became a momma, before I met you. Life was beautifully ordinary before you  came into it – beautiful, boring, and monotonous.

I had no worries, and the worries I had, are not even worth mentioning. In my world now, I wouldn’t even list them as worries, more like inconveniences. Things that made my day not run at the normal level of functioning I was used to. Something would happened that would throw my schedule off and that was my big crisis.  Then you came into my world and turned it upside down. One look at you and I knew I would never be the same. My life from that day on would be anything but ordinary. You brought a light to my life I didn’t know existed. As if the life before I had you had no relevance to who I was or who I would have been. Everything stopped and started anew. My life from that moment on revolved around this perfect angle God had  blessed me with. Your soft, dimpled, good smelling skin. Those dark chocolate eyes and that perfect button nose became my routine. Looking at you and kissing you became my job and I never missed work. If I close my eyes and think really hard, I can still feel you in my arms. Still remember the feeling of putting my nose near your face and just breathing in all that good baby smell. I felt so connected  to you. I still do. Four years since you left and I feel your absence just as profound as the minute your heart stopped beating. It’s tortuous, painful, an indescribable ache to have the center of your universe ripped from you. To this day I can not believe this happened to you. Yesterday, I was looking through pictures. They were all in chronological order. So many pictures of you and me and your daddy. Smiles you can not fake, every single one was pure happiness. I looked at  them and instantly felt  that love again, that naive-my-life-is-perfect, indescribable love. Then came the pictures following your death. Pictures I took of myself in your room crying while your dogs laid on my lap. Your dad would text me asking how I was doing and the thought of even trying to describe it was so tasking I would just take a picture.  Pictures of your nursery, your funeral. Pictures filled with an eerie darkness that made me feel instantly sick to my stomach. It was the the EXACT opposite of the overwhelming happiness I felt before. Just as powerful, but on the other side of the spectrum. Like something came into my life and sucked every ounce of happiness out of me and replaced it with the darkest Hell.  They are too dark to look at long without the ache setting in and the realization of what was taken. My heart aches for you. I worked this year. The first time I have worked the anniversary of your death. I actually went to work while your brother was with a babysitter. I thought I was doing well until I got off of work. I ran to my car and sped to the house to get to him . I couldn’t get there fast enough. Would I get there on time? Would I make it this time? Would he still be there when I got there? He was, and grabbed him and held him and cried uncontrollably, kissing him everywhere. I realized in that moment that I’m still waiting to pick you up from daycare. In my mind, I’m trying to race backwards as fast as I can hoping to get there before it’s too late. I hope you know I’m missing you. That I relive your life and death daily, like a side show in my mind. As much as I know you wouldn’t want that, I can’t help it. It’s impossible not to miss you, not to hurt from the loss of you. I lost a huge part of me when you left, but boy did I gain so much. The short time you were here… Oh buddy, I was so blessed to be your momma. I wish you could have experienced everything in life I wished for you. You were and still are, so immensely loved and celebrated. I miss us. I miss our late night story times. I miss our lullaby time. I MISS EVERYTHING!!! Mostly though, I miss being your momma.

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