I touched his hair today.  The feeling of familiarity came rushing over me as an unrecognizable sound came out of me.  His hair.  It felt just like how I remembered it.  Remembered him.  My flesh and blood.  My life.  My baby.  I had to keep touching this tiny lock of hair.  Why didn’t I ask for more, I thought?  How is this all I have left of him?  But I didn’t ask for his hair after he passed away.  My mind wasn’t thinking in that direction.  The hospital so graciously knew to do that.  I kept touching it, rolling it around between my thumb and index finger.  That lock of hair.  The only physical thing I have left of my precious Carter;  and I am oh so grateful I have it.

How is it possible that a lock of hair is all I have left of him?  Hair, his ashes, memories… This isn’t right.  This is not how life was supposed to go.  How am I sitting here in my cozy walk in closet, pictures strewn everywhere, but no baby?  I remember exactly how this lock of hair felt when I would touch his head.  It FEELS just like him.