A Hollow Ache

I held you tightly to my heart this morning while you slept in my arms. You wearing warm, snuggly footy jammies.  It was still dark outside; the sun hadn't arrived yet.  You snuggled into my neck and gave sweet little man snores.  I prayed for you, while you slept on my chest.  I cried, knowing how much I'll miss you.  I held you close and watched as your parents finished packing the car. When you woke, I watched you stretch and yawn and grin up at me.  My heart melts every time you do that.  I want to permanently etch that little smile in my memory.  

I could tell from your little furrowed brow and perplexed look that you didn't understand.  You looked up at me as I cried...I didn't want to let you out of my arms... I didn't want to quit smelling your sleepy head, your smelly morning baby breath.  I didn't want you to go.

I watched you drive away with your parents, in that tightly packed car, "FLORIDA OR BUST" scrolled on the back window. 

I wept.  

I miss you already, Cooper.