jack.

dear little one, exactly one year ago on this day i got a call about you. on the other side of the line- tears, roars of pain. you had been inside your mommy for 8 months. today, you were gone. no sense reminiscing about the loss and struggle. you wouldn't want that. i know. so, instead, i just wanted to say i love you. i love you because you brought us all such joy in a short amount of time. i love you, because you knew my voice, and would kick and dance in the womb whenever i sang the indiana jones theme song. obviously, you have the best taste. i love you for watching over your family, especially your little sister. your handprints are so tiny, scrap booked and cherished. tiny baby nike shoes still line the closet. i won't lie, it's been very difficult for your mom and dad. nobody has any words of comfort even though we wish we could spit out every eloquent sentence that ever existed in order to make them happy. but, the truth is, they just miss you and wish you were here to celebrate your first birthday. are you celebrating? are you dancing? laughing? i hope so. today, i promise you i will dance- i will dance in your honor. i love you sweet boy.



almost like a pre-game tradition. zoning out, blackberry in hand, focused on what needs to get accomplished. no emotion. eyes on road. driving 85 mph, the cop just sheepishly asks her to slow down after he sees the look of sisterly duty in her authoritative eyes. she called her boss, got out of work, and then called my mother, who didn't pick up. she was...busy.

i remember the doctors and the look on my mother's face when they told her. i felt like i had done something wrong. but, i just needed to go- it's hard to explain. i know it's cliche to say "it's complicated," but it is, and i am sorry for that. but i do promise you one day, you will understand what i mean.

she ran her shuttle back and forth from my uncle's house to the hospital to the airport. constant motion, constant to-do list. she couldn't stop, because she didn't want to feel the immense pain that was on the horizon, growing closer. calls to friends and family- she made them. booking hotels- she made the reservations. all of a sudden the tasks were complete, and she could no longer run.

i remember when my aunt came into the hospital room to see my mother. my body was still inside my mommy, but i was watching from another place. my mother looked like a child, scared, needing comfort. what comfort could you give? she looked at the dark circles under her eyes and her sweet face that had been glowing for 8 months that now seemed colorless. she sat down and slipped her hand into hers. every possible arrangement of words that came to her mind seemed disgustingly stupid. she wanted to be there for my mother for once. my mother has always looked after my aunt- endless advice, constant support and love. time froze as they stared at one another. the hand grip got tighter and tighter. "i don't know," with a head shake, tears forming in her eyes. "it will be okay," comforted my mother.