Do you ever wish you could go back? I do. I wish I could go back. Not to make a different choice about placing – I still think it was best for him and for me. But I wish I could go back and relive the short time I had with him in the hospital; that I could be more of a sponge to soak up the essence of him.
I remember so vividly his smell. He smelled warm. Clean. Brand new, like only a newborn can. I remember his poor little misshapen head, and the bruising that was just slightly noticeable on the crown. The soft fuzzy hair, so like the color of my own. And I remember his cries, which seemed more pissed-off than hungry or fearful or tired. Like he was angry at the harshness of the air around him, yet still resigned to be in it. I rocked him, gently and quietly, him and I alone; I touched his face, his fingers, his toes. My eyes drank in everything about him. I sang songs filled with love, but also with longing and loss. I knew this was my only chance and I reveled in it.
He was beautiful in every way, this amazing little boy. We spent the first 4 days of his life together in the hospital. It was amazing and wonderful, yet tinged with pain. And then he was gone.
Only one other time would I get to hold my son in my arms. One powerful, beautiful, emotional day in 2009. That’s all. Not enough.