Tiny, Baby Ryan

My pal, Sandy, brought some old photos to our high school  reunion.  One was of little, baby Ryan (and little, baby me).

Not long ago, I had found something I wanted to add to the special album I had made with Ryan’s photos.  It was ideal to glue a picture to and hang from the book. I thought to myself that I’d add one later when I got another, because I’d used all the pics I had.

Then it hit me.

I would never have another new picture of my son.

Those are the moments that hit the hardest.  When I forget.  When I think to myself that I have to tell him something funny, or that a new season of one of our shows is starting, or show him the dog’s new haircut.  To simply share joys or jokes with him.  

That is when I tearfully write him a letter and fold it up with a kiss and tuck it safely into the urn.  And miss him all anew, with a fresh pain.  At first, it is pleasant to forget and to think of him like he is still here, but then, the ache that slams into my heart when I remember that he is not,  just about knocks me to my knees.

I was thrilled to get this new photo.  And to see how my baby was looking at me with love.  

I miss seeing that expression, he was a loving guy.