Spring is once again upon us, and with it, warmer air and bluer skies.
The tree outside the boys’ bedroom is awash with tiny yellow flowers: every time I pull up the blinds, it’s the first thing I see. It reminds me of the cherry blossom tree outside the room that was meant to be Cameron’s – it too had been in full bloom back then, during the last days of my pregnancy.
I guess the truth is that I have been avoiding spring.
I have not allowed myself to revel in its beauty and its warmth.
To accept that spring is here means accepting that four years has now past since we lost our Cameron. Four years. Four years.
Four years ago yesterday was the last time we heard his heartbeat.
Four years ago today I was frantically preparing for his birth and arrival.
Four years ago tomorrow was the last whole day we had with him.
Four years ago Thursday was the day that we lost him.
Four years ago Friday was the day we finally met him.
And the last time we ever saw him.
Spring is here.
But Cameron is not.
And though I know it cannot be, I wish with all my heart it was the other way around.
(This post was originally written for Life Without Cameron.)
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