10 years.
10. years.
I type that with tears in my eyes. Just to imagine you at ten years old.
To imagine all the things -- the cartoons you loved, the homework you hated, the sound of your laughter.
10 years full of 'what could have been.'
It is a weird, gruesome thing -- to grieve only what you had hoped for, and nothing you ever knew.
I never knew you.
But I feel you as an ache in my bones. The kind that never goes away.
A feeling like something is missing. Something went awry. And you just have to live with it.
That last bit - living with it - that's the hardest part.
The only way I can, is to celebrate you. To share your story, over and over. To honor you.
To pour out all the love, for those I never knew.
So, for your 10th birthday, we got back on track. We just did it a little different.
We visited the hospital, like always. But your little brother helped to read the book this year.
Since the hospital where you were born has shut down the maternity ward, there are no babies there to give books to. And COVID restricted even visiting. So, the book project kind of went on hiatus until we could figure something out.
But, ten years -- we HAD to do something.
At first, we considered opening a free little library in our yard. But, there is one just down the block. And I thought, what if we scatter books all around our city? Leaving books that honor you all around town to spread happiness, joy, and education?
So that's what we did.
A kind of silence happened right after I said it.
"Wait..." I said.
"Yeah..." your Dad said.
We knew we were on the right track.
