It's kind of weird what you do when it's late, you're tired and you're approaching the end of a week that ran over you like a freight train.
My Beloved dozed off long before I did last night. He was soundly sleeping for an hour or more before I finally turned off the light.
But before I did, I looked at him. I watched him sleeping and thought of Thomas, who looked so much like his Daddy it's unreal. Sometimes I see him in My Beloved - the purse of his lips or the shape of his chin - and I wanted to see it last night. It comforts me to see them in each other, to see the parts of Thomas that came from the man I love so much.
I know it sounds like it's an agonizing thing to do, to look for reminders of your dead child in the face of your living husband, but it's not. And it's not morbid either (not to me, anyway - but then again I do a lot of things that I now don't consider morbid that actually probably are).
As time passes, Thomas sometimes feels like a beautiful dream I once had. So when I can find a way to make him real again, even for a few moments, I do.
As I looked into My Beloved's peaceful face and searched for reminders of our little boy, I quietly whispered things that are sometimes too hard to say out loud, then kissed him softly three times and went to sleep.
It makes me want to cry that this is our life, but I'm also so grateful that we've figured out ways to make it okay just the same.