I haven't looked at Thomas' pictures in a while, other than the one or two we have around the house in frames (always the same one or two).
So I decided to take a look at all the rest of them just now. I missed him. I wanted to see him again.
And it was weird. So much time has passed that I can barely believe he's mine anymore - that we made him and I carried him and gave birth to him. I looked at him with confusion, longing, sorrow - agony.
I had so little time with him, I can really only remember him from these photos, which makes him less real in so many ways.
I hate that.
I stopped on one particular picture, one of him shortly after he was born with a million tubes and wires protruding from his tiny, perfect body, and I had the urge to grab him, yank out all the equipment and run. Just run, run, run away with my beautiful little boy.
I would give my life to hold him just one more time. To feel the weight of him, warm and soft, in my arms.
I guess that never goes away. Not even after almost 16 months.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
Most of the time I can look at his pictures and feel more love than sorrow. Or at least feel love first before I notice the pain.
But not today, for some reason. Which means I have to go find a way to distract myself. Laundry sounds good - and I have to move the hose soon. That'll do for now.