It's Christmas Day

It's Christmas Day and I feel almos foolish to think I actually thought year number 2 without Sam would be a smidgen easier than the first.
Shit! I'm wrong!
This sucks. We stop at the oasis for Starbucks and my eyes begin to flow at the sight of a father and son hand in hand.

I allow my head to be filled with the guilt that struck me so early on.
I'm sorry for not giving my husband a son, my daughter a brother, completing my family.
I know it's not my fault. But this Christmas season has brought out that mother instinct, the one to protect the young at any cost.
I just want my son back. Even if its for a split second.

I imagine him riding around in this truck that we would have bought him this year for Christmas.

I can hear him babbling some gibberish that only daddy and I can understand.

I imagined him opening his gifts this morning and either being a terror to his big sister or the most sweetest little boy to his mommy.

But I'm not having any of that. Their only dreams that will never come true.

We will never have a complete family. We will never have a complete holiday.

Merry Christmas baby boy, mommy loves you.

Christmas

I've been having a really hard time with Christmas this year and Lucas is doing even worse.
Those feelings and thoughts are for another post. I just wanted to drop a quick hello and picture of the girls with the "big guy".

•Side note I have about 4ish post sitting in "draft" mode. I may be sorting through these and posting them over the next couple weeks, I hope.

Silence

I felt it. I was thick neither one of us wanted to say anything but we both felt it. The anger both filled is at the same time. It was almost like I could see it enter the car and pry our mouths open and force us to swallow its bitterness. Our chests puffed out as if the anger was too big to fit in our lives at that moment.

never the less anger made its way in and fill our brains with the questions and sarcastic remarks toward our creator. Just like it always does. Never actually invited always an unwelcome guest.

We never said anything to each other. He looked a few times and I glared. As if to study it looking for an answer. Looking for a final answer as to why our creator took our son from us.

But I didn't find it.

Still we sat there stuck in traffic in a small town near our home. At a dead stop in front of a church with a huge banner swaying between the columns that would welcome the Saturday church goers.

A picture of what is supposed to be The Creators hands holding a baby still in the womb. Next to the hands was Isaiah 44:2.
There it was reassuring me that Sam was in His hands before he was born, "under his care". Then why'd he let him die. He's supposed to be a loving God. Why could he take good care for my son.

Why'd He choose my son to die and not yours.

My eyes felt with tears as we pulled away. Tears of anger. Tears of relief. Tears of pain.

And again anger consumes my thoughts. The stronghold strikes again.

Fuck you anger. I want my baby boy!