The day you were born. How can the same day be both the best day and the worst day of our lives?
Conflicting feelings washed over me, whipping me back and forth between exhausting extremes.
Everything about meeting you was so right.
And yet everything about it was so wrong.
I loved walking through the same hospital entrance as we did for your sister.
I hated knowing that this time we wouldn’t have a baby with us when we were walking out.
I loved the privacy of the room we were given.
I hated the reason we needed it.
I loved the gentleness and kindness of the nurses and doctors.
I hated the fact that they had to talk to us about funeral arrangements.
I loved that Daddy was right next to me the whole time.
I hated thinking that somehow his son had died in my body.
I loved how brave Daddy was, looking at your still body on the screen during your final ultrasound.
I hated that I couldn’t look and just stared at the ceiling instead.
I loved that we would get to meet you.
I hated that I had to give birth.
I loved your beautiful head of dark hair.
I hated that I was too scared for a minute to look down at it.
I loved seeing how much like your sister you looked.
I hated that we would never see you together.
I loved how instantly my heart recognized you.
I hated the guilt I felt.
I loved watching Daddy hold you, your tiny fingers curled around his.
I hated that he only had one day to do this.
I loved that we had you photographed.
I hated that those would be the only photos we’d ever have.
I loved showing you off to our family.
I hated seeing them cry.
I loved sleeping with you that night, singing to you, talking to you.
I hated it wouldn’t happen again. Not here, not on Earth.
I hate so much of this. But I love you.
It was worth it. YOU were worth it.
You gave us the single most perfect worst day of our lives.