One year ago today, I woke up early and pumped an ounce of milk. Texts started flowing around 6am. My cousin’s plane had landed. My friend was picking up coffee at the end of his eight hour drive from Louisiana. My sister woke up, did some stretching. Things were mostly quiet.
One year ago today, I put on a black blouse and oversized skirt, tried to put make-up on my face. I should have known better. I never made it far into the day without tears.
One year ago today, I drove to a funeral home instead of the pediatrician. I picked up the box of toys I’d left with the staff, decorated the tables with photos and print-outs of letters I’d written to my son. Letters he would never read.
One year ago today, I sat in a chair in front of a casket, and read my favorite story to my son. I had always wanted to read him everything from Dr. Seuss. I had always planned for him to be alive.
One year ago today, I looked at my boy for the last time. And then they closed the casket. And then I said goodbye.
I’m so tired of saying goodbye.
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