On my way to work today, I stopped at the supermarket to drop off recyclables.   When I stepped out of the car, I had that inexplicable “mom” feeling to double check the backseat for Bodhi.   That, “where’s my baby” feeling that shakes you up for just a split second until you recall he’s safe at home. After Ty died, it happened to me all the time, but I never had that comforting relief of remembering he’s safe at home.   Instead it would be followed by the immediate sensation of my heart dropping into my stomach, a brick weighing down on my chest, and a knot in my throat because the opposite was true.   In that instant I was sucked back to reality and reminded that he’s gone forever. Slowly the instinct faded away.   I rarely look for him in my backseat anymore, and although it is a very natural progression, it still comes coupled with guilt.   I don’t want to feel any distance between us.   We are approaching an anniversary where he’s been gone longer than he’s been with us,