Backwards

Dear Stevie,
Long holiday weekends like this are the worst. It's times like these, that are supposed to be so great and so fun, that kill the most. Sunshine. Barbeques. Parties. Good friends. Fireworks. Happy families out and about all over the place, children dressed in red, white and blue. All things that should make me happy. And they so would, if I had you.

It's the should-be happy times that make me the saddest.

Mother's Day. Memorial Day. Father's Day. The Fourth of July. These days have been the hardest since you died. These days, that used to be the best. Next month we have your due date, then my birthday, then me and Dad's anniversary. Days I couldn't wait to get here, and now, am dreading the arrival of. I can't even think about Christmas without wanting to throw up.

How backwards is that?

All of this, every part of you dying is just that. Backwards.

It was a tough weekend, baby girl. I put on a smile and tried my best to enjoy what used to be one of my favorite holidays of the year, but inside, I was dying.

I'm so glad it's over.

Sorry I don't have much to write today. Just know how much I love you. Please know how much I miss you, how much I wish you were here so I could have dressed you up in your own little red, white and blue outfit, and worried about you lighting your hair on fire as you waved around your first sparkler in the driveway. I hope you know how much we wanted to celebrate these happy days with you.

Always,
Mom