Grief writing - Entry 19
I want to remember your face and the few hours we had together even though you were already dead.
I want to remember the good parts of my healthy pregnancy and my excitement during my preparation for labor and delivery.
Sadly, there isn't much to remember about your physical body. We only had a day and a half with you by our sides.
We're so lucky that a service like Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep exists, and we have professional photos from the hospital the morning after you were born.
I want to remember the thought of you with sweetness before the pain. But as soon as you were born into this world, outside of my body, there was longing for the past to change and for everything to be different.
Daydreaming about the future I had seen for you used to be filled with hope and joy, but now wishing for those things is a pain point so I try to stop those thoughts from making me sad.
Losing a baby before he is born, robs parents of making memories.
There are never enough memories with you, my son. I wish there were more.
I want to remember you as a boy, and a teen, and my adult son getting to experience life the way you should have been able to.
Those memories will never be made. I want to remember you but there is so little.