What I've Missed

My son would have been 7 years old today. And likely would have started 1st or 2nd grade next week. The thing about having a dead child is not just thinking of all the things you've missed since he's been gone, but also thinking of the things you and he will miss in the future. It's an awful thing to experience; and it's a year-round thing, not just reserved for the two days a year that stand out among all the others (birth day, death day).

When your child dies at the age of one, there's a lot you miss out on. First words, first steps, potty training, preschool, et cetera, et cetera. And, obviously, I think about those things and all the other milestones Ezra never got a chance to make. Pretty much on a daily basis I think of something he never got to do, places he'll never get to see, the friends he'll never make. But, the real kicker is the things we missed with him while he was alive because of his developmental issues. Milestones he should have hit before age 1. Crawling. Cruising, Sitting up. Standing. Clapping. Laughing. He was born seven years ago, lived for one year and eleven days, and I never got to hear him laugh.

This only recently occurred to me. I mean, I'm sure I thought of it at the time, but it's not something I've thought of when I think of the things I've missed. I never got to hear my son laugh. Because it's not something he ever did. He smiled. And quite frequently in the last few months of his life. But, never a giggle, never pure laughter. And that makes me sad. I'll miss his laugh.

Twenty years will go by and I still will not have heard him laugh. And, though I will think about my precious boy every day for the rest of my life, there will always be all the things I won't remember--the things I'll miss. The things that will never happen. I'll miss who he would have been; the Ezra I'll never know. And the future he'll never have--that's the thing I'll miss most of all.

Happy 7th Birthday, Ezra James. 

"...disappeared people can't feel sad. They can only be remembered or forgotten." ~ from Memoirs of an Imaginary Friend (Page 133) by Matthew Dicks