Day 1

July 17, 2016

Dearest Isaac,

Today was my first day in the big bad world without you.  I know that’s sort of a backwards thing for a mom to say to her son, but over the last 7.5 months, I became so devoted and attached to your presence that it’s really how I feel.  I missed you every second of every minute of the day.  I know that I will at least subconsciously do so for the rest of my days.  You, Isaac, will always be my first born.  I never realized the significance of that until July 16, 2016 (your birthday). There aren’t really words that express what that means, but its import is limitless.

I was admittedly heartbroken today but had so many conflicted moments of joy as I watched the impact of one beautiful little boy, who never even got to take a breath of air, irrevocably changing the lives of what seems like hundreds of people. Even the amazing nurses of Speare Hospital hailed the story of your unexpected birth, despite being trained to withstand stories like our own.  Your daddy’s parents and siblings along with your baby cousin came together in Hilton Head to laugh and cry.  Your dad and I returned to Squam Lake and watched your impact on my own siblings and parents.  Your grandma, Jane, cooked for the first time in what must be 5 years.  She made an old favorite of mine, kugel and flank steak.  You should know, this little action was a HUGE gesture.  It just isn’t something she does, despite loving us very much.  But, today wasn’t just another day, and I want you to know how deeply this messed up world felt it.

Even your puppy brother, Mowgli, knew something was different when we returned home.  In fact, he has been (second only to your father) the most confused by your absence from my belly.  You see, he only ever knew us as one.  When we picked him up in January, I was already carrying you under my heart.  He doesn’t understand mommy without Isaac.  To be fair, neither do I anymore.

I think it is going to take me a good bit of time to figure out who this new person is.  I should clarify.  There will never be a me without you for the rest of my time, but I don’t get to physically carry you with me everywhere anymore.  That was hard today.  That will be hard tomorrow.  It will be hard forever.  I have to think that there must be a reason for all of this.  You will never be president and I will never get to kiss your bumps and bruises away, but you also will never be heartbroken or disappointed by this crazy world of ours.  A small consolation I suppose.  Perhaps it should be a bigger one – only time will tell.

Anyhow, I love you to the stars and back.  You will always be my perfect first born baby.



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