Today should have been different. Today should have been filled with laughter, tiny hands wrapped around mine, and soft cries echoing through our home. Today should have been the day Braxton came into the world, and I would have been holding him for the first time. But life, in its most heartbreaking form, decided otherwise. The emptiness of silent rooms and empty arms feels impossibly heavy.

From the moment I learned you were on the way, my heart brimmed with hope, anticipation, and dreams for the life we would share. I imagined mornings filled with your cries, afternoons with your tiny fingers grasping mine, and evenings watching you drift into sleep, the soft rise and fall of your chest a quiet symphony of life.

I pictured introducing you to Easton, your big brother, whose eyes would light up at discovering a sibling he would protect, love, and cherish. I imagined Sis showering you with kisses and gentle hugs, forming bonds that only siblings understand.

But today, the house is quiet. There are no tiny cries in the nursery, no newborn scent to fill the air. Instead, there is an ache no words can fully capture—a relentless sorrow sitting heavy in my chest. It is surreal. I keep thinking this isn’t real, that at any moment, someone will hand me my baby, and I will finally cradle you. The truth, however, is sharp and undeniable: you are not here.

Even in grief, my love for you remains boundless. I would have given everything to cradle you today, to feel your warmth against my chest, to whisper promises of love and protection. I would have introduced you slowly, gently, showing you the people who adored you before your first breath. I would have traced your tiny fingers, kissed your forehead, and said, “You are loved beyond measure.”

Easton would have been promoted to big brother today. I imagine him standing tall, a little unsure at first, then eager to embrace his new role. He would have shown you his toys, read you stories, and learned the delicate balance of care and curiosity that comes with welcoming a sibling. Sis, too, would have been beside you, showering you with affection, teaching the quiet joys of family bonds and the unspoken promise that love endures.

The dreams we held for you were vivid and full of life. Plans for your arrival—celebrations, photos, first cuddles—were etched into every corner of our hearts. And yet, life’s harsh reality intervened. I am left with memories that never were, moments frozen in imagination, and a love that exists fiercely despite absence. Every heartbeat calls out for you, even though you are not here to hear it.

Grief is both raw and relentless. It manifests in quiet mornings, soft whispers of your name, and tears that fall unbidden when a song plays or a memory surfaces. I search for signs, small echoes of your presence, hoping for fleeting connections that remind me you were loved even before your first breath.

This year has been extraordinarily difficult. Every joy is tinged with sorrow, every celebration muted by the absence of the one we longed to hold. And yet, despite the darkness, the love we have for you shines brightly. It is unwavering, eternal, and beyond circumstance. You are, and will always be, the best thing to have happened to me this year. Though the world denied your arrival, your impact is indelible.

I grieve not only your absence but the experiences we will never share. I mourn the milestones you will miss, the giggles that will never echo through our home, the first words and steps remembered only in imagination. And yet, even in grief, I celebrate you. I honor you. I love you more deeply than words can capture, more fiercely than heartbreak can contain.

I carry you with me—in every thought, every heartbeat, every prayer. I imagine your presence beside us, a quiet guardian of our hearts, a symbol of love that brought you here, however briefly. Though you never took your first breath outside the womb, you left an imprint that will never fade. You have taught us the depth of love, the intensity of hope, and the resilience of hearts torn by grief.

Today, I whisper your name: Braxton. I tell you how loved you were, how deeply anticipated, and how, in a universe of infinite possibilities, you are my child, forever. I imagine holding you, feeling your warmth, the softness of your hair, the tiny rhythm of your heartbeat. Though I cannot, I hold onto your essence in my soul, in the way your memory shapes our family and hearts.

Daddy loves and misses you. Every thought is of you. Every plan we made, every dream we had, included you. Easton would have adored you, teaching you, growing alongside you. Sis would have loved on you, wrapping you in gentle care, showing you the first lessons of family love. Every imagined or real moment holds you at the center.

It doesn’t feel real, and perhaps it will never fully feel real. The gap left by your absence is immense, yet it is filled with love. Every tear shed, every whispered thought, every quiet remembrance is a tribute to you. Though your life was brief, your impact is eternal. You exist in every heartbeat of those who love you, in every memory, and in the way we speak your name with reverence and longing.

As the day ends, and the world moves on, I linger in the quiet, holding onto what could have been and the love that remains. The nursery waits, untouched yet alive with dreams of you. The moments we imagined—your first cries, cuddles, and smiles—linger as sacred visions, reminders of what it means to love without condition.

Though 2025 has been a rough year, and this day brings heartbreak, I will never forget you, Braxton. You are part of our story, our family, and our hearts forever. Love transcends time and circumstance. I carry you always.

Even in grief, there is remembrance, hope, and enduring love. The world may not have given you a chance to arrive, but you arrived in our hearts. You are cherished, remembered, and celebrated. We will love you forever, until we meet again.

Each passing day, though filled with quiet sorrow, also holds fragments of joy. Small moments—Easton laughing, Sis smiling, the memories of dreaming together about you—remind me that your presence is woven into every aspect of our lives. The anticipation, the love, the planning, the hopes — none of it vanished with your absence. It persists, quietly, steadfastly.

Grief teaches endurance. It teaches that love can exist without closure, that hope can persist without certainty. And through it all, my love for you grows, unshaken by the impossibility of holding you. Every heartbeat carries your essence, every thought calls your name.

I imagine your little hands, your tiny feet, your first tentative movements in a world you never saw. I imagine the bond you would have shared with Easton, the gentle care from Sis, the small but infinite moments of family love that would have filled our days. Though imagined, these moments are real in our hearts.

And so, Braxton, though we never held you in our arms, we hold you in our hearts. In memory, in longing, in every whispered thought, you live. Your story, though brief in the physical world, is eternal in love, in family, and in the lives you touched before your first breath.

You are, and always will be, a part of us.