Two years have passed since we learned that our third son lay dead within my womb.
The what-ifs, the should-have-beens, they still claw at my heart occasionally.
They touch that place that after two years is still tender to their ungentle touch.
I imagine him in heaven, all chubby legs and blond hair and noisy babble.
I imagine him climbing into the lap of a childless woman who prayed all her life for a son–
I imagine her holding his hand and tickling him jut so.
Maybe my imagination runs away with me.
It doesn’t matter.
He is there, with our loving Lord.
And someday he will take his big brother’s hands and show them around that beautiful place.
And someday he and his little sister will embrace with joy for the presence of the Lord.
And someday I, I will hold him in my arms and touch his face that I can only imagine now.
Until then though, I hold him in my heart.