Today is the anniversary of the birth/death of my son Miles. He would have been seven years old today.
How is it possible that so many years have passed when the pain is still raw and fresh. How is it possible that he has not aged a day and still is my newborn baby when my other children are now nine and four. How is it possible that my brother and his partner have planted seven years worth of trees in his honor.
Miles still lives with me, and secretly I consider myself to be a mother of three and not two. I still cannot understand why people don’t miss-ask-wonder about his absence. I still wish I could touch him and see what he would look like as a two year old, five year old, seven year old.
But I can’t. And my other children will be awake soon and I must get lunches made for camp. I will try not to let them see me cry. I am sorry I could not bring him safely into this word.
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