April Twenty-Fourth

Dearest Camden,

Time flies. And it is cruel that time fades details, senses and feelings.

3 years ago today you were born. 3 days later you left. Cruel. But necessary.

I prepared myself to open up the tote that holds all things Camden. To immerse myself in the details, refresh the sweet feelings that occupy my heart. I awoke early this morning and began to do just that. I removed the 2 bins on top of yours in the office closet, slowly opened the lid and let my gaze wander over the contents. Soft and fluffy blankets from numerous friends and family, onesies from an aunt that were never worn, hospital bracelets, nursing pads, newborn diapers, the list goes on.

I pulled them out one by one. I smelled the blankets for a trace of your scent but you were long gone. In a clear hospital bag near the bottom I found cut ID bracelets with "Baby Boy Gunnell" and the doctor's name. One for me and one for you. There was the blue suction bulb that your father used tirelessly to clear your airways when we brought you to my hospital room to die. His attempts were futile and heart-breaking to watch. Near the end I asked him to let you be, just let you go in peace.

There is a small container holding sweet clippings of your downy soft brown hair. I opened it but just looked, I didn't want to disturb one piece. There is the hospital binkie that looked so big on your little face but is so small. Also in the bag is a small black puppy, donated by some caring soul and it resided in your isolette with you. Cards from family and the hospital staff offering condolences and caring words. A beautiful gift from a stranger who heard our story, a pair of pristine white booties, hand crocheted and delivered by a ward member who loves us.

Tears began to fall, my glasses catching the drops. I stopped and put the contents back in the container. I wanted to share this with your father, so tonight, after we visit your grave we will spend some time honoring you, refreshing our reserves and our memories of you.

I remember. I remember the pain, the joy, the heartache and the journey. I remember you. I love you and cannot wait for our reunion.

Love, Mom