I miss you when you were just born.
I miss you when you fit so perfectly in my arms and on my body.
I miss when I knew you only had me to give you life. When your little eyes would look up at me when you were nursing.
I miss when all you wanted was me.
I miss when you didn’t and couldn’t understand the world. You only knew me.
I miss when you loved me unconditionally.
I miss when we would lay together in bed listening to soft music forgetting about the chaos around us.
I miss when I only had to worry about when you would sleep or wake up.
I miss the little noises you would make when you stretched out so big.
I miss the way you would beg me to pick you up by holding my legs and putting your arms up.
I miss when you needed me so much. I miss when you wanted me more than the iPad.
I miss your little finger wrapped around mine.
I miss the calm I felt in my heart when you were so little.
I miss cuddling.
I miss you in my bed.
When the joy goes – and it does, because life moves on and you can’t play peek-a-boo with a 7 year-old who wants to play on their iPad all day long – it feels like bereavement.