As I have been looking through pictures of Joshua, I have been struck with a new pocket of grief.
My dear friend, Molly, took this picture of Joshua.
Looking at it, brought me to tears.
It is a picture I have looked at a thousand times. It's one of my favorites of him. It was a few days after I found him blue in his crib, eyes rolling around in his head, gasping for air while he coded. It was the morning after he began having seizures that were caused by the lack of oxygen to his body. He was drugged up on anti seizure medication and he literally slept the entire day. It was a day that I couldn't bring myself to hold him- not because I didn't want to, but because I wanted him to rest without me disturbing him. My love for him was fierce and protective and intense.
I remember looking at that picture after Molly sent it to me, and weeping. It was so perfect and beautiful. I remember rubbing his head like I did in the picture, being careful to not wake him. I wanted nothing more than to hold him, love him, and kiss him- but I had to let him rest and recover.
But it's not those memories that brought on the grief this time around.
It was his lips.
I remember Joshua being dusky in color. I remember joking that he was my baby chameleon- changing color with the room temperature or lights. But I didn't' realize how much I had forgotten about his color.
Looking at that picture shocked me. How could I forget? How could I forget that his cheeks were so squishy? How could I forget how his lips folded up to look like a butterfly? How could I forget that he looked so sick?
How could I forget how much I LOVE him and wanted him?
This grief is terrible. It's as raw and as painful as the day that he died. I find myself weeping and wailing like I did in the hours and days after he died.
It hurts. It hurts so much. How could I forget?