the week you were here, a year later

Your birthday, Otto, was sweet and tender, the week leading up to it hard. Nights up at 4am in the rocking chair, a candle by your picture, missing you so deeply, crying, writing.

The day came and it was about your coming, your sweetness.

I sit in the rocker now, so grateful that I got to rock you to sleep, and sing to you, and touch your hair and change your diaper, all those wonderful things I got to do as a mama. When we brought you home, and i got to open the closet full of things we had prepared for you, and get out the thermometer and the soft pink wash cloths, this warm rush came over me, this feeling that all was well, I got to live out the dream, I didn't want to think it was just for a couple nights, it felt like it would be mine. I thought, maybe they're wrong, maybe he'll stay. It must be what heroin feels like, this rush of love and peace and well-ness through my body, enough to make me long for it again.

I remember the night we got to room in with you at the hospital. All the cells in my body wanted this more than anything, and even if I just had one night with you, everything in me wanted it, no thought for the void ahead, I had you now, I had you in my arms. I felt like I'd have everything with those glorious words "rooming in". And it was true, I did. I didn't have to leave you all night long. I could hold you and hold you, and wish the morning would stay far away. It's good to remember that now, now that those nights are gone, how I knew their precious-ness, and planned to savor them the rest of my life.

And this week, with all the pain of your being gone, I can remember that closeness, first thing when I wake up, I can remember just how your feet felt in my hands, your warm body on my chest, the cool little bump of your nose, the unfathomable softness of your skin and hair. I remember in my body, not just pictures or stories, but I know them.

The hospital to us is such a mixture of memories, but it is mostly sacred. People would tell us we needed to get away, get a break, that it was stuffy in there, get some air, but every time we did get out it was like torture, we couldn't wait to get back to you. It was where YOU lived, it was your house, and all of it, the swinging door to your ward, washing our hands, the smell of tape and new plastic, all of it meant you and we loved it because it was you. It glowed because of you. Our baby, our brand new son, how much wonder you held for us. For parents to look on their child for the first times and wonder at how it happened at all; it is such a mystery and miracle, we could look at you constantly, hold your hands, hold your feet, talk to you, be with you. So brave in there, so brave.