Where are you? I don’t understand. I don’t want to understand. I have the memory but not the acceptance. I’m desperately waiting for the moment where someone says ‘ONLY KIDDING!! Here she is!!’ and gives you back to me. I know it won’t happen but I’m so desperate for it to. I’m hoping if I am desperate enough I’ll somehow be able to change it all, and you’ll be back. I don’t want this to be real. Why is this happening to me? Why did it happen to you? Please make this un-real. Please stop this. I can’t cope. I can’t …be. I don’t know how to be, anymore. I don’t know who I am. A part of me is dead. How can I ever be the same again? I won’t be. Who will I be? Can I leave? I want to leave. I want to leave here, this town, so nobody knows me, and nobody will ask ‘what happened to you? you don’t seem yourself.’ I’m not myself. I’m not me, anymore. But how do I answer them? ‘No I’m not myself. I am a grieving mother.’ I don’t want to say those words. I don’t want this to be real. Saying it out loud makes it real. Saying out loud means I have to accept this. No…
I don’t think there’s anything more profoundly difficult than losing a child. At least, not that I’ve experienced so far, and I don’t think it would be possible to feel pain worse than this. And you, I bonded with. I thought I knew grief. I thought I knew how horrific it could be. But I knew nothing. I had barely felt a thing before, in contrast. Does that make me bad? Does that mean I loved the others less? I thought I loved you all the same. But this pain is different. Deeper. Rawer. Chaotic and yet still. Crushing. I loved you all the same but had a real bond with you. I loved you all the same but you had become my life. Somehow. By some miracle. That miracle hurts.
I don’t know what to do. I just don’t know where I am anymore. I feel like I’m going to be violently sick, all of the time, and talking hurts. Talking actually hurts. My throat is so tight and choked up with the grief that it hurts to do anything. It hurts to breathe. It’s as if my body has also realised a part of me has died. My body is dying too. Good. Last night I dreamt I was hugging you close to me again, running my fingers through your crazy bouncy hair and ‘shhh’ing you as you trembled through a nightmare and clutched at me. I dreamt that the feeling of holding you that tight pushed you closer and closer into my chest, until you actually ended up inside my chest, squeezed inside my heart, where you’d have no more nightmares. When I carried you through pregnancy you heard my heartbeat. Only you knew what the sound of my heartbeat, soothing you as you grew, sounded like. Only you knew the sound of that love. In the dream you were in my heart. Maybe you were hearing that again. I don’t know. Either way, all day today my heart has felt incredibly heavy. My chest tight, a huge pressure, like there’s something in there far too big. It’s as uncomfortable as being 9 months pregnant. But also as beautiful, somehow. You’re back inside me again, somehow. I’m carrying you again, right inside my chest. I can feel you inside me. You’re gone, and I’m gone too….and the deaths of both of us is currently trapped inside my heart. I’m terrified to speak in case I have to lose you again. I’m terrified of just saying ‘I miss her’, in case by speaking, you disappear from inside my chest and I don’t feel you anymore. I can’t lose you again. I can’t face the fact I’ve lost you. The dream gave me a chance at having you back.
Except I don’t, not really. I don’t hear your giggles. When I do, they’re just memories. Not alive. If I concentrate I can smell your little baby smell, and feel you breathing on my neck as I rocked you to sleep during the night. I can remember the first time you saw your reflection and couldn’t decide if you were scared or curious. I remember the first time you had hiccups and I couldn’t move for laughing.
I’m in so much pain.
What’s it like, in the sky, baby? Are there rainbows and stars and unicorns and all things you loved? Are there lots of strawberries and starfish…? Bunny? Is Bunny there? Did we ever find his eye and sew it back on? I have no idea. It didn’t seem too urgent at the time.
Come back to me… or let me come back to you… this is all wrong… it’s all so wrong… you’re supposed to be in my arms and giggling at the world and dribbling in my hair as you fall asleep. You’re supposed to be covered in baked beans or spread out across my bed – somehow taking up my ENTIRE bed despite the fact you were just a baby. (How did you do that?!) You’re supposed to be here. I’m supposed to be with you, protecting you and loving you. I’m sorry I failed you. I’m so sorry...
I can’t. I just don’t know how I’m going to recover from this. I don’t know how to cope, if coping is even possible. Sammie has suggested making a scrapbook of the happy memories. I think I’ll just sob my way through making it, but I want to, before they fade.
I was so young. It’s hard to imagine I was a child too…
I want you back baby. Come back to me. I’m in so much pain. I don’t mind the weight in my chest….I just wish I could have you back….
Please make this all go away 😥 😥 😥 What am I without you…how was I ever anything before I remembered this? How on God’s earth did I survive this at the time?
God, if you are real, please look after my baby, until I can join her again 😥 and please please let this be enough…I cannot take anymore…. 😥
I hate them so much.