….or so I thought.
This time last year I was counting the last 7 days of being pregnant with our second baby boy. Thanking God for a healthy pregnancy, for a healthy baby, and praying for a healthy delivery.
I have been preparing myself for this week for awhile. Praying. Writing. Meditating. Distancing. But I’m not ready. I haven’t been able to walk into any room in our house this evening without crying.
The memories. His beautiful smile. He was always so happy. I want to hear him laugh.
Just like for Christmas, we should be picking out a toy he would like for his first birthday. Not standing at the bakery counter trying to explain to the ladies that we want a memorial cake made for our son, who would be a year old. Them looking at us with pity in their eyes as Luke tells them “We need a cake for my brother, Toby” without hesitation. And then they say, “Maybe you could draw something out and bring it back to us, because we’ve never done something like this before.” I just smile and walk away, as Luke says “Where’s Toby’s cake?”
I can feel my heart breaking again. I sat at mass this morning with Luke in my lap, staring at the altar. Wondering again, what Toby was doing in Heaven? What would he be doing if he were here with Luke and I right now? Sitting in my lap? Playing trucks with Luke on the pew? There is just always something missing from our life. Every single minute of the day.
I found this image today and it has tugged at my heart.
I’m going to use this as hope this week. We need lots of hope. And prayers. Our hearts are so deeply missing our sweet Toby. Our handsome, soon-to-be, one-year old.
