Letting my sweet baby boy suck some icing off my finger this week, I got bitten by the edgy rough of a very first tooth. My heart swelled with joy at this next new milestone and the thought of the new discoveries it will bring… and then just as fast, my heart throbbed, bleeding from shards of guilt at enjoying this moment. A milestone I never got to see… and it felt like I replaced it, and it didn’t seem fair.
So many moments, stolen by the sharp sting of the real.
Death, where is your sting after all?
The sting is when the muscles of my arms remember what it felt like to hold her.
The sting is when I see a little girl her age running around with pigtails bouncing behind her.
The sting is when I dream of holding her and kissing her cheeks, only to wake up to realize she is not here.
The sting is when no one mentions her anymore, and the only time I see her is on the background of my phone.
The sting is when I look at a picture of her and her features seem unfamiliar because it has been too long.
The sting is when I see the beautiful green I chose for a bedroom she doesn’t sleep in anymore.
The sting is everywhere, and it is just as hot and sharp every time.
I am ready; ready for the sting to be soothed and the moments to be sweetly savored. For joys to be embraced, never stolen.
Until that day my hope holds on, though by a string.
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