Six.

Very heavy heart this week. Circumstances that lead to today were not helpful. Just really dark and difficult. Not sure why we can't catch a break. Too many losses all around us and it's just so hard to swallow. 

I was at a school a week ago and heard a woman say something piercing. To add context, she was asked if she'd like to join a group of women for a game of golf. And here was her response:

I'd love to, but I haven't seen my niece and nephew since December 5th. 

For obvious reasons, I immediately perked up at the mention of that date. December 5th will always be so difficult.

But then I started thinking about what she was doing with her niece and nephew on that day. Was she taking them to the zoo (doubtful since Chicago was having its first blizzard of the year on that weekend. How fitting)? Was she baking with them? Were they watching a movie? Playing a game of Candyland?

All these thoughts loomed through my mind as I paralleled a very different existence on that day. That day brought no smiles and all tears. But it was also beautiful. I met such a beautiful little boy that I crave so much to have with me still.

When I heard that sentence spoken, it stopped me in my tracks (omitted the word dead in that idiom for obvious reasons). I know it's true, but were people really enjoying that day? It was the worst day of my life, yet others were experiencing joy, happiness, excitement, reunions with family. I had my own somber reunion with family. And that was the last one. First, and last.

It also struck me that the woman speaking chose not to play golf because, as she said, it had been too long since she saw her niece and nephew. She had an obligation. A priority. A desire. An interest. A right, and (this is the hardest one), an ability to see them. Six months is a long time to go without seeing the ones you love.

It's been six months since I've seen that baby face and the numbers are just creeping further and further away from that first introduction and goodbye.

It's been far too long. I'd prefer to forego the golf game, too, and see my son again. But sadly, devastatingly, I don't have that option. Golf it is. 

Dear Andrew,
I miss you little man. It's just too hard to breathe thinking about how chubby and cute you'd be right now. And how much joy you'd bring to our lives by just being here. We miss that joy and wish with every part of our beings that you would be here with us. My brain won't stop thinking about that delivery room and how most parents cry tears of joy. They see a bewildered little person emerge and see the world for the first time. We saw you, a beautiful little person, too, but never will the rest be true. I showed your pictures to a good friend the other day. It felt so good. I was so proud, yet sad that I'm not parading them on facebook and this blog as I expected to do when you were born. Instead, I am cautiously holding them close to my heart as they are all I have of you. They're gorgeous. You're gorgeous. With all of our hearts and love. We give it all to you.