I can't do today. It's February 1st. I can't turn the calendar. My perfect baby boy will forever be January. The last bit of my hope for his life lived in January. His birth-- the sacred perfect bubble of his 1,690 minutes in the cocoon of our hospital room. His death, his funeral and burial. The agonizing, beautiful intensity of his life and his loss and the early days of meeting grief. The fiercely strong memory of John Paul Raphael still in my arms, breathing on my chest. The cards and flowers coming and my husband home so we could hold each other up. Time frozen in honor of this sweetest child. All January. February is his due date and my husband going back to work and everything being "over". February is not "cute and pregnant" but just fat. February is betraying my baby by leaving him behind. February is having to re-learn my life without him. I'm not ready. I'm staring at a long bleak road of calendar pages and seasons and am so afraid I will never be able to find him there. I want January back.
