I saw your mother talking to you again last night as though you were there. She left our bed to go to your empty room, to your little crib, spotless and cold. I crept to the door and watched as she sat in the nearby rocking chair, my breathing shallow, my eyes stinging with tears.
“Come along home, little baby,” she hummed to you, through her tears.
“Mommy’s missing you.”
I smiled then.
Eight months ago the notion of missing someone who was yet to be had seemed impossible.
But now I understand.
Now I hum along.