When you least expect it.

It's 1:15 and I can't sleep. When this happens, I usually find myself aimlessly surfing the internet. Tonight I came across a blog of a woman who lost her teenage son earlier this year. My heart broke for her, and I couldn't stop the tears. I had to muffle my sobs so that I wouldn't wake up Ryan who is peacefully asleep next to me. Something she wrote just hit me with its rawness. She talked about how, when it gets cold outside, she wishes she could keep his body warm like she used to do when he was a child. She explained how she still couldn't get it through her head that he was actually gone, and that the body that was in the ground wasn't her son anymore.

It reminded me of Eli's funeral, and how I had to leave while they were lowering his tiny casket into the ground. It was wintertime in IL and I couldn't handle him being laid to rest in the frozen ground. How I wanted to see him just once more in this life, but I was too scared to see what he looked like that far into death.

I got to hold him after he was born. He was initially so warm, but that faded. The last kiss I had given him on his sweet face had felt so cold. I've blocked out so much of that day because it was so hard to handle, but every December 5th brings me back to it.

The pastor that attended the funeral from St. Anthony's Hospital gave us a small teddy bear that day. Its current home is on the top of Jackson's dresser. It's become his new favorite toy, which is bittersweet for me. Jackson calls him "baby bear" and totes him all over the house. I'm almost as protective of it as I am of Jackson. It's silly.

For the most part, I really have come to terms with the loss of Eli. God is giving him a perfect life. I'm grateful for that. But every once and a while, this pain creeps in