He would have been a lion this year: curious, brave, and so cute.

For his first Halloween, we would wait to have trick-or-treaters smile at him as we passed out candy on the porch. Their parents and I would exclaim how perfect each other’s kids’ costumes were. We would smile at each other and as they left, he and I would await the next giddy child looking for their next sugar rush. The evening would be full of treats with no tricks in sight. As the day would come to close, I would already plan out the next year’s costume. We would be able take him to other houses then.

It’s one of the many days I dreamed of while he was still safe inside me. This time last year, I thought of all the costumes I could dress Jensen up for on his first Halloween. But he’s not here for this one or all the rest of them.

I didn’t just lose my little lion on his first Halloween.

I lost my dinosaur at age three.

I lost my superhero at age five.

I lost my ninja turtle at age seven.

I lost my football player at age nine.

And all the other costumes and Halloweens in between.

This Halloween, I won’t be waking up to any treat. I will wish that this past seven months had been a horrible trick on me. My little lion won’t be smiling at me as we pass out candy. I’ll be in bed, under the covers, and wishing for this day to be over. My whole body will shudder through the tears and holding on to the memories of last year. The trick-or-treaters looking for their next sugar rush will come, but they won’t find anyone greeting them at the door. They will see a stuffed lion guarding a bucket of candy, telling them to only choose one.

Today when we imagine what each of our children would dress up and be, remember you are not alone. We see your princess, your pumpkin, your skunk, and your mermaid. Most of all we see your child, even when it feels like no one else can see them. If you want to curl up in bed all day, like me, that’s perfectly okay. If you feel strong enough to pass out candy, that’s okay too. If you just want to skip today and not even acknowledge it’s Halloween, that’s perfect okay.

He’s a lion this year, even if you can’t see. And I’m his mom, forever beaming with pride.