Dear Seamus,

We all stood in the driveway tonight with your balloons and each said a bit before we let go and watched them fly away into the cold night sky.

I have a hard time calling this day your birthday because you should have NEVER been born this early. You were supposed to be a summer baby. A corn on the cob and peaches baby. Not an early crocus and snow drops one.

I cannot believe that it has been a year now. In some ways it feels like only a couple of months, and in other ways it feels like a decade.

I didn’t know what to expect of today other than I would surely cry. And I have, several times now.

I am still a little bummed that we haven’t find the right container yet for your little ashes. I believe I will know it when I see it, and I haven’t yet. But soon. We have to find just the right one to hold your ashes and those little scraps of defiant bone that refused to disappear even under the thousand degree flames.

I was shocked at how relieved I was to see your little bones in that tiny pile of ashes. It made you so real. You weren’t just this soft little magical creature that should have never left your watery world so early. You were something substantial, something that could withstand a crematory. You were real. You ARE real.

We are pregnant again, but not with a replacement baby. That is not possible as you cannot replace one person with another. No, this is sibling that will hold a different spot in our hearts. A sibling we will tell your name to, so even after we are gone, there are others that will remember your name.

Your big sister still loves you and misses you and thinks this whole thing has been very unfair. Hard to argue her point.

We have lost friendships with people who could not bear to acknowledge your passing. “I am so sorry for your loss” is apparently more than some people can say.

But, we forgive them and move on. And I will keep looking for the crocus that bloomed this day last year. It is late this year as it has been cold, but I have faith it will be there soon. And every spring from now until I die, I will always look for your spring crocus.

I love you little man. You are now and forever my little boy. My son.

Love you forever,

Mama, age 40