It’s been rainy and cloudy all week long.

I love the rain, when the clouds are a smokey-grey and the whole world outside and in is overcast and muggy. It’s like the weather tells me it’s okay to have down, gloomy days. There are plenty of days where the sun needs a break from spreading its light. I’m okay with that. I understand you, sun.

In honor of the crisp leaves and wet pavement, I took a bath late last night. It was my first since before Amelia was born. By the time I stepped into the tub I felt I might drown in her memories. As I sank into the water I could see my heart beating in my stomach and chest, up and down, up and down, moving  just as Amelia’s restless knees and elbows did when she was alive. Still alive, inside of me. How I missed those fleeting moments of the past.

Eight weeks have gone by and my chest is often heavy with this sadness that consumes me. My arms still ache to hold her perfect body and massage her skinny legs and toes, but I know I’ll never get to. You’ll get to see her again someday, and that reunion will be glorious, everyone tells me. That’s great, but I want her now; don’t you see that?

I feel some days like I’m losing my mind scrambling to keep the details of her close in my conscience, like how she’d stretch her neck back or how she’d curl her fingers in mine. I try to picture myself completely healed and confident, the mother of Jack, plus more babies and kiddos running around my feet. But I can’t envision such a sight. I can’t bear the thought of more kids that aren’t Amelia. More kids without Amelia.

I can still smell her, did you know? There’s a spot in the kitchen by the microwave that smells exactly like her. I often find myself daydreaming about her as a toddler, sitting on that very countertop dangling her feet over the edge. I get whiffs of her scent every now and again by that countertop. I’ll be sorting the mail or heating up a tupperware of soup for Jack and I’ll smell her, as if she was sitting right by me. Maybe I’m crazy, but maybe (just maybe!) she’s really there with me.

I’d hope so, because I sure need her right now.