A year and a half has gone by since my son, Jacob, died. I frequently find myself questioning, “Was he really here?” It feels so long ago that I held him in my arms and ran my fingers through his hair or touched his smiling face. Not to mention snuggling on the couch watching one of his favourite movies. Did I just dream him up?

And yet, I know he wasn’t a dream. I have the Caesarean scar and stretch marks to prove it. All his things are stored in the basement. His kitten is now a cat and entertains me.

But I still find myself wondering, “Was he really here?” And that feels crazy.