Sometime in the last few months I've stopped wandering the house, looking for him.
Last week there were four days in a row I couldn't cry. Not a single drop. Incidentally, those days were severely crappy. Apparently I take being able to cry for granted.
At night now, I sleep with all lights off. We've finally realized there's no need for bright light to adjust pumps, change pajamas or administer medication. I've exchanged my nursing gear for normal bedclothes.
Saturday I talked about him to a friend, musing aloud how Vincent used to love train tables, clutching onto the miniature wooden trees for hours. He was even buried with his favorite bush.
I didn't cry. Did I mention that? I wish I could. I wish I did.
I'd gladly cry all day long, sleep with lights on, endlessly wander the house, wear nursing clothes, and avoid the train table if it helped me feel closer to him, but nothing does. Losing a child is like losing the best part of yourself. I wish I could have it all back.