Octobers

The other day as I parked the car Finn looked over to see a family getting out of their car. There were three kids and he said, "I wish Cale was here. Do you wish he was?"

It always makes my heart skip a beat when I see how Cale's absence has impacted Finn. He's said similar things - like the time he mentioned that the neighbors have three kids in their family and we should have three. I think he really would like to have a (living) brother and it pains me that he doesn't, but it also makes me happy that we talk about Cale enough that he really understands that someone is missing and that Cale should be here.

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On the 15th of this month I lit a candle for Cale, like I always do, but I couldn't help but think how much even that simple act has changed over the years. It seems grief has really grown into an almost comfortable aspect of my daily life. The sharp pain and literal ache of not having my baby is more infrequent, replaced by a somber yearning for what should have been.

I'm both grateful to be at this point in my life and also at times nostalgic for the days when the missing was all consuming. 

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It was eight years ago this month I learned I was pregnant with Cale. Those precious memories of the excitement and hope we felt have not been tainted by his death. I can think of our time with him and feel gratitude and happiness because it was a time full of so much love. He was wanted, he was loved, he is loved, and he is missed. This October and all others.

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