Adam left for a business trip this morning. It's a short one—he'll be back Tuesday. But in the days leading up to his departure, I've been feeling so anxious about it—enough that I was thinking about all those stories you hear when the wife says she has a bad feeling about a trip and then the husband stays home and the plane he was supposed to be on crashes.
But it wasn't just the flight. I was worried about being left solo to care for Sam, which didn't make sense because Adam travels at least once a month and I've found that I really enjoy the special one-on-one time.
And why were my thoughts turning to people dying, people who've died, and worst of all, children who died? Why was I perusing so many of those blogs this past week?
I was just downstairs mulling all of this grim business, wondering what was wrong with me, when I finally realized what it was. March 15. My due date for the first baby. Our first baby who would've been two today.
How quickly the conscious mind pretends to forget, and how the body always remembers.
We would've been thrown a second birthday party for you, little one. Everyone would've come and I would've made you a cake and we would've been so happy. I am so sad that you're not here. I'm so happy to have little Sam, but I'm so sad you're not here.