Earlier this week I felt that guilt creeping in...that guilt that I am not sad enough anymore. I went to the climbing gym with a friend, and walking into a bar for beers after, I thought, "I am not sad. I haven't thought about the baby in hours. I am not sad." And a moment later, "Wait. Is this over? Already?" Ha!
I've heard that the anticipation of the day--the due date--is often worse than the day itself. So I anticipated that the whole week would be hell. And then it wasn't. I think I might have even described myself as "happy" for those gym-climbing and beer-drinking hours. But starting again last night...wham-o! I'd been planning Blue's memorial service with my parents. A few days ago I worried that I wouldn't be emotional enough when I read my speech to Blue. As. If.
The memorial is on his due date, November 19. Three months and nine days after he was born still. It will be lovely. So many friends and family and neighbors are coming. It will be sad. It will be what was supposed to be the most wonderful day of my life.
At 4:00 Pennsylvania time tomorrow look up, wherever you are, and think of Blue in his big blue sky. Here on earth, we mortals weep.
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