Today

Today...I was supposed to hear you cry for the first time.
I never heard you cry.

Today...I was supposed to hold you in my arms for the first time.
I held you in my arms for the first time and the last time, on the same day.

Today...I was supposed to nurse you.
I never got to nurse you.  My milk came but you were already gone.

Today...I was supposed to be in awe of your little fingers and toes and the way you wiggle your nose.
I was in awe. I loved your fingers and toes and your nose and every inch of you.

Today...I was supposed to smile with excitement.
Excitement is not a word for me today.  I will smile.  I remember you and I smile.

Today...I was supposed to introduce you to your big sister.
She got to meet you, to hold you and to feel her place as a big sister. 

Today...I was supposed to be tired after a long nine months, and labour and delivery of you.
I am tired.  Grief is tiring.

Today...I was supposed to welcome you.
I already had to say goodbye.

I love you Zachary. 
I miss you today, always and forever.