Today Olivia is the same age as Gavin when he died. Two weeks exactly before her 1st birthday. By this time he had already died. We had left the hospital and I was in our hotel room begging God to either let me sleep or let me die. He didn't grant me either one. The next morning his doctor came to our room, sat on my bed and held me in her arms while I wept. She told me I had to live for the baby that would be coming soon...our little girl, our little Olivia. She reminded me that all the parts that made Gavin special would also be in her. That she shared the same parents, the same DNA...a part of him would live on through her.
I keep looking at her hands and feet, trying to remember what his looked like. I hold her and try to remember what it was like holding him. I think about how happy she is and how much she's growing and learning, and how playful and stubborn and curious and cute and just...how alive she is...and it makes me so, so, so sad that Gavin doesn't get to wake up tomorrow morning. That he didn't get to live. Tomorrow I will have had her longer than him. It still doesn't feel real. How can my brain still refuse to accept it?
