It has been 2,902 days since we lost Brady. 8 years. In those 2,902 days - not one has past without me having a thought of the baby boy that I never had a chance to raise. Not one.
It is the evening of Father's Day and I am reflecting on the fact that 8 years ago I was about 30 hours into labor. I knew going into labor that we had lost Brady (see the entire story here) so after 30 hours I was just ready for it to be over. I was in pain - both emotionally and physically - and I wanted the nightmare to end. It was the Friday before Father's Day that year.
Tonight, after a wonderful Father's Day, I am thankful. I am thankful for the amazing and blessed life that Mike and I have today and for our two beautiful girls. I'm thankful that after a close call, I lived through the delivery and I'm here to enjoy our life. I am also thankful for all that Brady has given me. But I am also sad. I'm sad that Brady is not part of our family and that we didn't get a chance to raise him.
8 years is a long time. Memories begin to fade. The smell of his memory box has morphed - it no longer smells like his sweet little body, but instead smells just like the rest of our house. Time....it has a way. A way of healing, a way of changing, a....way.
I've said everything I have needed to say over the years. But somehow it helps to write it down and really reflect. While I think about him every day, on his birthday I truly sit and take the time to think it through, think about him and listen to my heart.
I've just pulled out his memory box and stared at the two polaroid pictures I have of all 7 pounds, 6 ounces of him. If I didn't know better, I'd think he was simply sleeping. If I didn't know better, I'd think I was looking at Brooke's baby picture - they look exactly the same.
I could ramble on and on about the thoughts in my head and how much this little boy changed my life forever. But instead I'll just say...Happy Birthday, son! In my heart, you are alive and I forever love you. Happy 8th Birthday, Brady.
More about Brady
A letter to my son