I’ll never forget the first time I laid eyes on your beautiful face. You stopped crying when the nurse laid you in my arms. Thinking back now, I feel that same ache when I think of how you cried as they took you away.
How can it be you’ve been gone two birthdays now & in five months it will be two years since you last closed your eyes. I wish I’d been there to stop that horrible thing from happening.
How was I to know two years ago today you’d read the last birthday card I’d give to you? I used to take such care in picking out your birthday cards, cards that said, my son. You’re still my son, but I can’t see you, or hug you, or talk to you. How is a mother’s broken heart supposed to deal with this?
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