Goodnight, Jack day 49

I sit and rock, stroking your urn, staring at your picture. I would give anything to hold you in my arms, stroke your face, and stare at every inch of your body. Your mobile moves slightly with the air from the fan. What I would give to wrap you in a blanket and place you in your crib and listen to the music as you fall asleep. The empty green wall in front of me makes me think of the one last thing your father and I needed to do in your room. I wanted to fill it with family pictures that included you. Now your room is a shrine to you filled with tears and sadness. Tomorrow will be 50 days that I don't have you, my darling son. I only have memories of carrying you for 38 weeks and 3 days. I only have a picture, ashes, and ink stains to represent your life. Why can't you come back to me? Why do I only dream of you? All I can do is ask why over and over and over. Jack, I miss you.