Ian's 2nd Angel-versary

Ian,
.
As I finish wrapping up all the Christmas presents and place them under the tree, I can't help but think of you. Only one of those presents is for us, the rest are for family and friends (and technically there are still some presents missing). But oh how different things would be if you were here. You would be a year and half, and those boxes would probably be a lot bigger filled with toys for you. What I wouldn't give to have our tree covering presents with your name on them. To have nightly cuddles and kisses. To hear "momma" every five seconds. To watch you grow and learn and turn into an amazing young gentleman.

If I could go back to December 8th, 2014, I would have told you that I loved you a million more times. I would have rubbed my belly constantly, yearning to feel your little kicks and jabs. I would have cherished every second of feeling like I needed to throw up, of my belly getting a little too big for my favorite jeans. I would have done things differently had I known the next day your heart would stop beating. That the very next day, our entire world would be turned upside down. Not a second goes by that I'm not thinking of you and wondering how different life would be.

You might have only been with us for 16 (technically 17 since I didn't have you until the 16th) weeks, but your life mattered so much to us, our family, and our friends. Your life and death taught me leaps and bounds about unconditional, never-ending love. You taught me to enjoy the present because we are not always promised the future. You taught me what it feels like to have a huge chunk of my heart ripped from my chest, and how to slowly heal the pain that that caused.

And because of you, learning that your sister Madison would ultimately suffer the same fate was somehow easier to handle. Not that I'm handling it well, because I'm not. But going through your unexpected death has made me cherish each and every moment, each kick, each time I get to hear her heart beating, each week as I watch my stomach (and the scale) get just a little bit bigger. As I said before, losing you taught me to love unconditionally, which is exactly what I'm doing with Madison. I'm jealous that you two will get to grow up together. Or maybe not grow up, because I still haven't decided if, once I get to Heaven, I want you both to still be my little babies or I want you to be grown up. But I'm jealous that you'll get to know each other. That you'll get to know your uncle Ryan and aunt Julie, and all your other family that have gone before you. But I'm also thankful because I know that you're in great hands up there. I mean, who can be a better babysitter than Jesus? I can almost hear your little laugh as he tells you a joke or throws you in the air. As much as I hate to admit it, you truly are in a better place.

I don't really know how to end this letter to you, because I could probably write to you for hours and never get everything out that I want to say. But I suppose this will have to do for now. I will love you always baby boy <3 And I can't wait to see the baby who is blessed with your quilt this year!