His name is Macen

At six months old, a baby is learning to roll over, sit with support, pass toys from hand to hand, say their first foods, and fill the room with babbles. It’s such a sweet, innocent age.

I don’t know what babies do in heaven, Macen. I don’t know if you’ve reached these milestones, if you’ve grown at all, or if time even exists the same way there.

I do know what I imagined for you here. Lake days, dog kisses, rainy afternoons, porch swings, neighborhood walks, and sunsets. A life filled with simple moments shared with you, Cory, the dogs, and me.

I don’t know if heaven celebrates milestones, or how eternity is measured. I only know that today, you would have been 6 months.

You are loved endlessly, and you are missed every single day. Until we meet again, my sweet son. 🩷