Three months ago today we said hello to Simon.
That should mean that we are watching him grow, start to smile and coo, wiggle around. We should have started to figure out by now how he sleeps, how well he eats, maybe even a little bit of what his personality would be. We should be waking up a few times a night to feed him, change his diaper, console him.
But instead, three months ago today we said goodbye to Simon.
Every day is hard. Every time we wonder about what he would have been is hard. Every time his big brother talks about the baby brother he won’t meet (as he did just a few minutes ago…”daddy, why Simon not play with this toy?” or “why is Simon at his house?”) is hard.
I geared up mentally for today, knowing that the three month mark since we said goodbye would be an especially trying day.
But I’m learning something.
It doesn’t take an anniversary, or a moment, or a specific thought to make a day tougher than the last. All it takes is knowing that no matter what we do, no matter how much we wish, Simon died and he won’t be coming home. (That’s how we tell Nolan, and it’s the blunt, brutal, heartbreaking truth.)
So yeah, three months is a hard day. But so was two months and 12 days. And 1 month and 23 days. And…..
I don’t know when, or if, this pit in my stomach will ever go away, and honestly, I’m not sure if I want it to. It’s been my constant companion for three months, and in a weird way, it’s a way to carry my little boy with me. (Not sure if that seems crazy, but it’s honest to myself.)
Three months. Three damn months.