One year ago today was your due date. And I always knew, and your dad always knew, we all always knew, that you’d be born before this date, though we had no idea how much sooner it would end up being. So this date feels like it shouldn’t matter, but it does to me. Nearly two years ago, I found out I was pregnant a baby due July 26th. Last July 26th, we were very, very sad and you had been gone for more than three months. We on a vacation together, a special trip to Costa Rica, and returned feeling closer to normal than we had in a long time, knowing this date was now in the past.
But here it is again. And this year, your brother is here. He’s big and happy and thriving, and we are happy and so very much in love. But someone is missing. And today of all days, I am missing you most acutely. I wish you and your brother would ever be able to know each other. I wish you would grow up to be his obnoxiously know-it-all older sister. Or at all. These are the days when I am certain, this is forever. I will always love and miss you. I don’t think July 26th can ever be the same again.