If things had gone according to plan, I would be the mother of a three month old child. Maybe a little sister for my sweet girl who so desperately wants a sibling to hold.

If things had gone according to plan, I’d be as big as a house, feeling anxious about going into labor (having not experienced it the first time around) and wondering if a VBAC would bring our boy into the world.

If things had gone according to plan, I would be typing one-handed, our week-old son at my breast, having been convinced a second Cesarean section was necessary at 39 weeks.

If things had gone according to plan, my little preemie, born at 30 weeks, would finally be home with his family.

If things had gone according to plan.

If things had gone according to plan, I would be in Santa Barbara tonight, sending lanterns into the night sky, celebrating a life too short for his family, though perhaps perfect for him.

If things had gone according to plan. My plan.

Instead I am home, nursing my living child back to health, breathing love into my fear, breathing. And I am grateful to be here. Alive. A mother, daughter, wife, friend, sister, soul. So grateful. And so sad.

Tonight, on what was Benjamin Burton Sheeren’s due date, my heart goes out to all the lost children, however they were taken, and the people who love them, miss them, mourn them. They are smiling on us, telling us not to worry. It is up to us to listen.