If You Were Here...

Dear Reed,

It’s rare anymore for me to feel certain about what any given day would look like if you were here. So much time has passed, and we’ve changed so much in these months without you. There’s no knowing who the three of us would have become together.

But today, this beautiful, crisp fall day...I know what we’d be doing. It’s the first day of football season. Do you remember Daddy telling you about his football team? When our time was short, and we had to pick what the most important things to share with you would be, this is what Daddy told you about. He showed you pictures of the field he wanted to visit with you someday, told you about how your own middle name - Elliott - was chosen in part because of the connection it held to Green Bay. Yes, today you would be watching football with your daddy, learning to love the team he loves so much.

He went to the field last year while I stayed home with you still safe in my belly. It was early enough, we knew, that he could take a weekend away without worrying he’d miss your birth. I know he thought of you the whole time he was there, picturing places he’d take his son someday. He came home from that trip laden with gifts for you - hats and socks, onesies in all different sizes so you’d never run out of Packers gear, no matter how quickly you grew.

I don’t know how big you’d be now. I don’t know if I’d even recognize you. I don’t know what 9 month olds look like, or if you’d already be taller than average, just like Daddy. But I pulled out all those onesies today, laid them out on the floor of your room with the tags still attached. They are some of the only ones I hadn’t washed yet, because back when I still believed you’d have time to wear all those clothes, these ones were still so big. I think they’d probably fit you just right, now, though. I can’t believe I actually know what you’d be wearing today. If you were here.

Your daddy would laugh and cheer and scream, and start teaching you all the things he wanted to teach you about this game, this team. Today, the two of you would begin shaping a whole lifetime of Sunday football father-son traditions. Today, you and Daddy would be together in your own special world, and it would be so beautiful.

Instead...he watched alone. Instead...I folded those brand new onesies back into the box in your closet, tucked them away with all the other things you never got to use, and then I crawled back into bed and cried. Instead...I found another moment that feels normal to everyone else, but will never, ever feel whole without you.

We miss you, sweetheart. I hope you are off somewhere, playing football with Jasper the way he probably played baseball with you on a day when his mummy and daddy were missing him extra hard. Just be sure you wear a helmet - football is dangerous, and I still want to protect you, even if you can’t get hurt. Silly, I know, but that’s what moms do, little man.

I love you always,

Your Mommy