We have a stocking for you, with an "E" on it - matching the rest of the family's. There was no doubt that you would have one still. But tonight, when Santa comes, he will not stop to fill it with traditional treats as he does for your siblings. Instead, Caroline will tuck away a picture she has drawn for you. We will place another beach stone that we have painted for your first Christmas inside your stocking. And I will place a letter for you...
This is your first Christmas my sweet boy. I am keenly aware that you should be here with me, in my arms tomorrow. I could not buy you gifts. Cannot wrap them, only to watch you discard the gift inside for the far more fun wrapping paper, string and bow. That eats away at my insides, brings the now familiar sadness and longing to my eyes. I've healed a bit these past 7 months. Tears can threaten to fall over my eyelids without actually doing so now. Before they would just fall endlessly.
You have visited me often, and I thank you for that. Through the butterflies, rainbows, and the love you have inspired among others.
Christmas is the time we celebrate Jesus' birthday. Give him a hug for me tomorrow, will you? I know he hears me, as you do, but you are with him in a different way. I have begun to see people write and hear them talk about their babies' first Christmas. That should have been us as well. So don't be a stranger tomorrow please. Be here when the kids run downstairs to see their presents. Be here when we sing Silent Night by candlelight tonight at Church. Be here when we pray and share what we are thankful for. Know that I am thankful for you. Be here when we open our stockings, as we will open yours and remember you.
Merry Christmas Ethan. You are loved endlessly,
Mom
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