Tiny Burns

Dear Analin,

It's been one of those weekends. Nothing major happened, just lots of small things adding up to the point where breathing hurts a little bit again.

We put Christmas stuff away on Sunday. It was no where near as difficult as putting Christmas decorations up. When we put Christmas up, I was in a cloud of pain. I could barely see through it, keeping my face as relaxed as possible for the boys and family. I hadn't been able to believe, at the time, that missing you would hurt that much. I ended up blaming other things and other people. Everything built up in me until I couldn't stop the tears, but it was still a while before I sorted out it wasn't everything outside of me causing the pain, but what was inside.

Taking Christmas down was a piece of cake after that. Even folding away your stocking with all the others wasn't as hard as I was afraid it was going to be. The process wasn't pleasant, but it wasn't devastating.

We saw Athena this weekend as well. I got to feed her and burp her for the first time. I was such a proud (and lucky) auntie. I got her to eat her whole bottle before she fell asleep, and she burped so quickly and easily for me. She is a beautiful five month old baby who is right on target for a two month old size because she was born three months early. Athena is a true miracle and I get to be part of her life. I wish so badly that you could be, too. She's the daughter of my best friend who I've known since first grade. We had so many plans for you, Athena and Xavier, Athena's twin who didn't make it.

On Friday, I got a text from one of my friends. Her five year old daughter had accidentally let a balloon into the sky. "Mommy, is it going up to Joshua's sister?" Her mommy told her that it was. It made my heart so happy to know you were thought about, talked about, and I wasn't even there. It was beautiful to me.

So memories have been the culprit. Memories of what had been and what's been planned. Nothing new, but nothing painless. It's like when you hold your palm over a flame for just a moment. It doesn't hurt very badly. But then you do it again. And again. And again, a million more times. Eventually it starts to hurt, even burn, when at first it had just been a little too warm.

Of course, I am your mommy. A little burn would never stop me from thinking about you or missing you. I love you bigger than words or thoughts. Bigger than you could ever know.

Forever, little one.

Mommy.