You won’t remember, but I will…
You won’t remember the way I stood in the bathroom late that night in labour with you, fearfully and excitedly gazing up at the moon, knowing I was going to bring you into the world soon and whispering to you, “We can do this.”
You won’t remember the way you looked at me right after you were born, or the way I pulled you up next to my heart and marveled “Hi, baby” in your ear.
You won’t remember the way you healed my broken spirit. The way you completed my heart. I was weak before I had you, and you made me whole again.
You won’t remember the way I proudly watched you everywhere we went, you were always the most beautiful boy in the room to me.
You won't remember the way you made me laugh with all of the silly things you did. I saw how kind your heart was.
You won't remember the way I would brush the hair off of your forehead and the way you'd look up at me. Without any words, our souls could touch and say everything to each other that words couldn't.
You won't remember the tickle fests we had, and how I always cheated so I could hold you close and cover your salty little face in kisses.