Bereft

The rain got heavier, so I went through the house, checking windows and doors. My final destination was Alexander's room.

He lay, sound asleep, blankets askew, barely covering his lanky frame at all. I rearranged them for him, trying not to wake him.

His eyes opened, just a fraction. He often sleeps this way, with his eyelids only half closed. There was a time he gave a medical resident a minor heart attack, when he saw that.

I can't begin to tell you how many times he has done that to me.

Because when Alexander sleeps that way, he looks exactly like her. he is the image of my mother when she died. Before I gently ran my hands over her eyes, closing them before my sister arrived.

I will never forget that look. I've been haunted by so many images and smells and and textures from that night. they have haunted me for more than 6 years. I can't escape them. I may never, ever escape them.Particularly when I am reminded in my firstborn so often.

I can't help but check on him. But there are many times it leaves my heart torn, a little more broken. I bear scars that travel deep within me, in my bones, my veins. And every time i see him this way it picks a little at the scab, reopening it, still fresh from the last time that final week replays in my mind. Picking at it.

He is already the image of her. Even Joel is at times struck dumb at how much Alexander resembles my mother. And mostly, i love it. I love that he resembles her. I love to see flashes of her in him. But there are times, like last night when I am left literally gasping, recoiling. I must stand and watch his chest rise and fall, touch his warm skin. Sometimes, like last night, even wake him. I feel wretched and bereft, so intensely craving the warmth of her hugs. And unreasonably terrified that one day it could be him.....