I don’t know why I’m so surprised when these emotions rise up at of “nowhere”. This life is still so strange. And I’m always still learning.
I flew home this weekend. And it’s weird to call it “home”, because the city wasn’t originally my choice. But it’s where he was born. And now I’m forever tied to it.
I looked for bluebonnets. It was already too late in the season. I wasn’t able to come when they were in full bloom. I wonder if they will ever grow in California.
I looked for bluebonnets, but I didn’t look for him. And it’s strange, because this is the first time I’ve traveled without his ashes. And I am so full of missing.
I drive through the city, and it hits me. When I lived here, I was pregnant. When I lived here, I was happy. When I lived here, I gave birth to a son who never came home with me. And yet he lives in everything I see.
The last time I was in town, I went to the restaurant where I so often had cravings in my ninth month. I was there at least three times a week. And I think about this today with such intense yearning. He would have been 11 months old on Wednesday.
I miss you, Adrian. I miss my son! This longing is boundless, it swallows me. And I think down, deeper, into these memories. And I often want to live inside of them. Because that’s where he is.
So I’m home now, even though I’m just visiting. And this is what home is to me. And this is where I leave my heart. With him. With everything.