01/08/2025
Five years ago today, we held our firstborn son for the first and last time. At 1:50 a.m. on January 8th, 2020, our sweet Oliver was born—a tiny 1lb 13oz and 12 inches long. He was everything I had ever dreamed of and more. The moment I saw him, I was overcome with the same rush of oxytocin, pride, and love I felt when I first held his sister. I was so proud of him, so in awe of this beautiful little boy we created. But my joy was crushed by the weight of losing him. His life ended before it could even begin, and mine has never been the same.
It’s been five years, and the pain hasn’t gone anywhere. Not a single day goes by that I don’t think of him. I wonder who he would be today—what his voice would sound like, what his laugh would feel like in my heart. I think about his tiny hands and wonder how it would feel to hold them now and watch him grow up into the person he was meant to be. The what ifs never stop, and the answers will never come.
I’m still angry. Angry at the unfairness of it all. Why him? Why us? Why do I have to live in a world that doesn’t include him? This grief is relentless, and the ache of missing him never lets up.
Oli, I miss you with every piece of my broken heart. I know you are still with me in ways I can’t fully see or touch, but deeply feel. Our connection is unbreakable, transcending the limits of this world. I will never stop loving you, never stop wishing I could hold you again, never stop wondering what could have been.. My love for you is endless, baby boy. 🌩🤍🦋🌙