There are things that I had prepared myself for -- things I knew would likely be difficult. Seeing happy, healthy babies out in public. Going into Ewan's nursery again, going through his clothes. Looking at his pictures. Talking about the night he died. I do not know if expecting the difficulty somehow made it easier, but doing those things weren't as hard on me as I expected they would be.
It was those things I had not thought of or prepared for that knocked the wind out of me like a punch to the gut. Going to the pumpkin patch. Seeing a baby boy in one of the outfits I had received as a gift at my shower. Going back to see the doctor who delivered him, talking about possible future pregnancies.
Sometimes my response is instantaneous, and sometimes it brews for awhile before rising to the surface. But then it comes: hot tears, slow at first, and then picking up in speed and intensity. Remembering what I wanted, what I had hoped for -- for him and for us. Remembering the sweet boy who was nothing like what I expected, but ended up being everything I wanted.
It was only him I wanted, after all.