It is not often I find myself comparing Avery to children who are here. But sometimes, sometimes I can’t help it. There is a special group of kids who often take me by surprise. Comparing. I can’t help it. When I do, the wind is knocked out of my lungs and I struggle to breathe. Gasping for air, I fight the urge to run away. I want to look, I want to compare, I want to take notes. While at the same time, I need to hide, protect myself, snuggle into my pillow and close my eyes.
They are beautiful kids. Known as LS V1. I have loved them since meeting their mamas the same week we all peed on sticks. I shared my pregnancy with such beautiful women, we grew together, and grew our babies together. And then their babies continued to grow, while Avery was frozen in time. Some of my greatest friendships came through the connection I made with these women. And their babies… toddlers now… touch my heart in a way no other children do. I love them so much. While at the same time, I get torn apart. The desire to hug them and hold them and smell their hair rattles me. I want to absorb them into my memory and put Avery in their hologram.
He is stuck. His little brother is bigger, and stronger, and here. And yet, he is older. Locked in a photo frame on my wall. But I have no idea what he would be like now, other than looking at the faces of the beautiful LS V1 children. Wishing more than anything he could play with them, learn to talk with them, have a tantrum as loud as them.
There is no use wishing upon ghosts of lives now past. For memories of tomorrow. A tomorrow that will never come.
But its hard. So hard.
Because every time I look at them, I see him.
Stuck in 2011.