The beat of my heart

This day is different every year.  Last year was fairly awful; I was a mass of pregnancy hormones, and

brittle and edgy for days after a difficult Christmas for reasons that had nothing to do with this day.

This year is less so.  The sadness, the missing, it is there, but more like a heartbeat.  I can attend to it or not.  I don't feel the need to go over the chronology of those days seven years ago when Philip died and was born.  I'm just remembering him today, to honor his memory, and trying not to focus too much on anything else.  I remember the rapid, surprisingly strong, fluttering against me a few days before he went that told me he was there.  His waving hand on the ultrasound two days before the end.  The dream of a chasing a chubby blond boy who, when I finally caught him, told me his name was Philip.

To our precious boy, resting on the bosom of Abraham, we miss you, we love you, we'll see you someday.