November 3rd

Today is blustery and cold; typical weather for early November. The skies are gray, trees contrast with dying vibrant colors, and fallen leaves whip across sidewalks and streets. Today is November 3rd.

Today I met my husband after work at the cemetery where our son, Oliver, is buried.

Today is his due date.

I woke up in a bit of a fog, not having slept well, but brushed myself off and headed for work. It wasn't until I was mere blocks from work that I realized how hard moments of my day were possibly going to be. The only sign of a Kleenex I had in the car were the drive-through napkins stuffed in the passenger side door compartment- just out of reach, and the half paper towel with smears of cream cheese from my morning bagel. I'm not sure if I just needed a really good cry, or if it was the realization that the wetness I felt on the paper towel was either from A) tears or B) parts of cream cheese that I was potentially smearing all over my cheeks that caused me to break down into the sob-fest. Could have been a combination of the two.

By the time I got to school, my eye liner was gone completely, and I was really wishing that I had my faux glasses to slightly cover the increasingly puffy eyes.

All joking aside, today has been, for the most part, normal. There have, however, been small bits of great heartache as I daydream about snuggling up to a perfect baby boy, who could have been here by now. I've allowed the visions of a new baby for Thanksgiving and Christmas enter my heart and head. I've glanced more than once in the direction of "Baby's first Christmas" outfits and "Santa's little helper" sleepers at Target and Khols. I've wished that he could be here with us. I've imagined Nate holding his son, Oliver curled up into the newborn ball, taking naps on dad's chest, and even wished for crying in the middle of the night from a little voice.

We are daily prayerful and thankful for our daughter, who will join our family in March. We love her and look forward to sweet moments with her. She will bring great joy in a few months, and we know that.

But today, we remember our little boy who will never be held this side of Heaven. We won't hear his cries or watch him learn to crawl. He'll never take first steps or attend a Thanksgiving or Christmas family gathering at Grandma and Grandpa's. We'll never buckle him into a car seat or pack a suitcase for him on vacation. He'll never play with Charlie or learn to crawl on our stairs. He just won't. And today, that makes me cry. We really wanted him. We really loved him. And we had such mighty dreams for his life.

Today we remember Oliver. We think of him every day. We love him always. And we look forward to meeting him and sharing in the joys of Heaven one day.

Happy November 3rd, Oliver. We love you.