Fall has always been my favorite season. In the past, any hints at Autumn's approach: talk of pre-season football, the return of school buses, a few red leaves on the trees, would each bring a smile to my face and a flurry of excitement to my heart with the promise of visits to pumpkin patches, apple picking, and refreshingly cool days.
I had so many plans for us baby girl. I created so many images in my mind during the pregnancy of what last year, our first Fall as a family, was going to be like. I imagined us walking the paths along the river beneath arbors of changing leaves, and dressing you in the pumpkin costume that still hangs in your closet for your first Halloween. I imagined how wonderfully thankful Daddy and I would feel at Thanksgiving, to be home with our child, starting our new family life together.
You were due August 23rd.
You were born September 4th.
You died October 2nd.
Fall is fast approaching, and instead of flurried excitement, I am feeling so incredibly overwhelmed by these looming dates. At night I wake to panic about how quickly the time since we last held you is passing, and the fact that your gravestone hasn't yet been finished. I hate the fact that three seasons have passed without you, and I still feel unable to get over how surreal it can all feel. I feel trapped on pause, like groundhog's day, playing out the same day over and over.
I miss the simplicity of life before losing you. I miss the excitement that Fall used to bring. I miss all of the dreams that I had for you, and what it was like to expect you would be here. I miss you Peyton.
Fall will never be the same.