I miss him. So much. So very very very much. Something about having our tree up and lit, the weather cold and gray...it brings me back to last December - the coldest and saddest on record. December was so much harder for me than September, October or November last year, and I think my body remembers that.
As Owen is maturing and able to sleep on his own for a lot longer, I realize there are more times that I am left alone right now, and I realize to an extent what a blessing his neediness has been in the last few months. Huh? Because now that I have more time to myself, and I'm less hyper-focused on Owen (though still incredibly hyperfocused, don't get me wrong), I have time to reflect on all that we lost when Otis left this world.
This morning I felt physically ill with my grief. The sinking hole in the stomach feeling. The "nothing will ever feel right" feeling.
The other night I was standing in E's office talking to him, holding Owen, when all of a sudden I realized Owen's gaze had fixated on something part way across the room. I followed his gaze, and tears filled my eyes as I realized he was staring at an enlarged black and white photograph of his big brother.
Last night I cradled Owen and bounced him to sleep listening to the lullaby station on Pandora, in the dark of our bedroom, lit only by the lights of our Christmas tree (yes, our tree is in our bedroom, we use it as a night light these days). I snuzzled my nose into the nape of his neck, into the fuzz on his head, I breathed in deep and tried to take in his smell as best as I could. I listened to this song, and it felt like my dad sent it down from heaven, and as tears streamed down my face, I missed my first born and held Owen tight in my arms, and reflected on how much has changed since last December, and then also, how nothing has changed at all.
I wish he were here.
I miss him like crazy.
Otis, mama loves you.