Playing with Brother

It's grey out, gloomy.

I'm having one of those "can't shake it" mornings.

Several reminders have me dwelling on Ezra and my ever growing distractions from his life and death.

Last night as we were winding down for bed, Hazel grabbed a little picture of him that I set on my nightstand. Without thinking I made a comment, "playing with brother?" And I was immediately sad that the frame was cold and she was pointing at the glass.

A friend, who is anxiously awaiting the arrival of number 5 made a comment on facebook about co-sleeping with down. Statistics about SIDS freak me out, in a way that goes deep into the tingles of my nerve endings. I was tired and commented pretty inappropriately and now I feel bad. Everyone deserves to have their fears about SIDS, but talking about the numbers and likeliness of what causes it leads me to a pool of guilt, where I drown.

Paisley spent the night last night. When we woke up this morning there were 4 in the bed, and there was room, and I can't help but angst for him to be there, to be the 3rd and to be 3 and be our Ezra, making marks all over our story.

I miss you boy. I can still cry about the fact that you're gone. I love you!
Momma