**Edit. This post is about my son that died. I realize that this is regurgetation of facts/feelings for a lot of you. Many of you have offered condolences repeatedly. They are ALWAYS welcome, but please, do not feel like you have to keep repeating yourself if you feel like a broken record. I know that you love and care for me and my family but I realize that sometimes all that needs to be said has already. THANK YOU!**

Four years ago, right around this time of the morning, I was at the hospital, completely sick of being in labor and wondering many things.

“I wonder how big he’ll be?”

“I wonder if he’ll be as cute as my other boys?”

“I wonder what he’ll look like?”

“I wonder WHEN THE FREAK THIS WILL BE OVER ALREADY!!!!”

(FYI-When you are in hard labor, the last question usually trumps all the previous ones.)

Matthew was born three weeks early. He was due on June 26th and was born on June 7th. This was done deliberately because I was having a difficult time carrying him and been hospitalized a number of times because of it. All of my children came early, but not by three weeks. I worried about his size. James and Christopher were both in the 6 pound range when they were born, and in all the photos their hospital “Going home” outfits were drowning them. I knew Matthew would be smaller. So, I went out and got a tiny preemie outfit that was adorable and packed it in my bag.

Everyone was placing bets on how bit he would be. I guessed five lbs, but Jonathan had more conviction about his manly genetics and so he guessed 7 lbs.

Matthew weighed 8 lbs. 3 oz and was 20 inches long at three weeks early!!! He would have been 12 lbs if he had been on time!!!!

No wonder I was having such a hard time carrying him! He had red hair and was just huge. I called him my little highland warrior. I loved and adored him immediately. Jonathan was so proud. It was a very happy day for everyone. The following months were happy, productive and some of the best times my family experienced.

I don’t mean to be biased, but he was just the cutest baby. SEE?

I have about a million photos of him munching on his “Sucky thing” because I loved it. I could hang out all day and watch him. I was so happy the 3 months and 16 days that he was here. I cannot believe that he would have been four years old today. Where has the time gone?

I have a lot of people ask me if it has gotten easier as the years go by without my little bug. My answer is a resounding “Yes and No”.

I am still full of wondering questions, many like the ones I pondered on the day he was born.

“I wonder what he would look like now?”

“I wonder if his hair would still be red?”

“I wonder if he is ever here with me?”

“I wonder why this had to happen to him and our family? WHY?”

I have had some really meaningful and deep email exchanges about a mother who lost her baby a few months ago. They have made me reflect on the past a lot this week. I remember what those first months were like- I wanted more than anything to have a remote control to fast forward through all the horrible pain and get to the point where it was bearable. At the same time I didn’t want that pain to die down or go away because that is how you SHOULD feel when your baby dies. It should never abate, never subside because he was that important to me. His loss was that devastating and if the pain went away, somehow it seemed like it would be a slap in the face to how important he was to my life.

Now that some time has passed, I can see the flaws in that argument a little better, but I still hold on to a lot of things regarding Matthew and I still feel scared to let them go. I’m stubborn like that. I hate that so many of my acute memories of him are fading, I have trouble remembering a lot and there are many sleepless nights that I lay in bed desperately trying to recall everything I can. “What time did he used to go down for a nap?” “How often was he eating at the end” “Which outfits were my favorite?” “Did he ever get to see a thunderstorm? I can’t remember!”.

Thankfully, there are some moments that will NEVER go away. How I used to kiss the bridge of his nose, the way he sat in his bouncer on the day he noticed his hands for the first time. How he looked sucking happily on his pacifier and the little noises that come with frustrated pacifier munching and the time he was so desperate to eat when I was out of the shower he latched on to my upper arm and gave me an arm hickey. His brothers holding him, him sleeping on Jon’s chest.

Those memories are mine. Hopefully forever. They are the things that I think about more and more instead of the day that he died. They are the things that I want to remember and focus on and that is getting easier to do.

I am doing better. There is so much more light and hope in my life than there has been in a long time. I am trying. I am looking (Even if it is so cautiously, one tiny millemeter at a time) at ways to be better, happy and to keep moving forward. I get stalled a lot but I am trying. As I said, this is still so hard. It created this HUGE ripple effect that touched, invaded and destroyed and damaged many, many parts of my life in ways I would never have imagined and I have so MUCH fallout that I am still dealing with. There are so many days I just feel overwhelmed, bitter, angry and lost.

BUT.

I think it helps to just be thankful. I don’t do this very well because of my inherent pessimistic attitude, but I’m trying and it happens more and more often .Thankful that he was here at all. Thankful that I got to be his mom. Thankful for all the good things I have left.

I think he’d want it that way.

Happy Birthday, Little Bug. I miss you. I think about you. I love you. Always.

Love,

Momma.