He should have been there destroying the decorated Christmas tree, exploring under the Christmas tree. He should have gotten a new ornament, his name should've been written on some presents, his stocking should've been ready for little gifts. He should have been toddling around, jabbering and learning new words. He should have been excited to open gifts, only to care more about tearing apart the wrapping paper than the gift itself.
It wasn't the first Christmas, it was the second. And it was harder.
I am discovering every day more and more things we are missing out on together. As time goes on, he is still at the forefront of my mind, much like my other son is, but with a shadow of sadness and a touch of pain.
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