Mummy and William selfie x

The question that I have been dreading since the day that William became forever 12 months old. A very easy question to answer, of course I have a child, I have a little boy, his name is William. But, how can that question be answered without prompting awkward silences? I cannot and would not even imagine saying no, that would be like denying his existence, an intolerable thought that makes me feel sick just saying it in my head. How could I ever say no when all I want to do is shout from the roof tops, that I am a mother, my child may not be here, but he existed, he was part of the same world that you and I exist in today. And that’s exactly it, an existence, an earthly existence. I do not feel part of my life anymore. I feel like I am viewing life from behind a thick glass, I can see, I can hear muffled sounds but none of it is real, none of it is relevant. I can just see people moving from A to B. Getting in their metal cars, driving to work, not really paying attention to what is going on around them, making meaningless conversation about the food you ate and the television you watched the previous evening, undertaking a full day’s work to earn money to pay the bills for the small brick house you drive to at the end of everyday. A brick shell that you pay money for, take ownership of, clean, a place to nurture your family and keep them safe. A place where you make memories, but what is all this worth without those that make these memories so special. As much as I am attached to my home, of course, this is where William grew up, learnt to smile, learnt to laugh and learned to love. But it is also where he died, it feels so empty and desolate without him, but yet it is his home. I no longer feel I belong anywhere, not even in my own life.

It is so easy now to see how life was taken for granted before, since William died I have become incredibly hypersensitive. I am more aware of my surroundings, noticing the tree tops on the way to work, not getting sucked into the monotonous tarmac as the road forges on; were the trees ever that tall? I’m sure I would have noticed that before. There are so many different species of tree on the way to work, I wonder how many? So many different shaped leaves, such a wide palette of colour’s, all merging together to form a sea of ‘green’. Sitting on a cliff top allowing yourself to relax, really relax, allowing your arms to flop down by your sides, the tension to be released from your shoulders, what can you hear? Can you hear the waves? Can you hear the waves bearing down on the cliff? Can you hear the wind? As I sit there and close my eyes and let the darkness gather me up, i am aware of the hair on my arms tingling as they stand to attention. My skin succumbing to the sensation that is goosebumps, a reaction to my surroundings. This is what it is to listen, it’s not simply to hear, but to feel, feel your surroundings. Encouraging your body to let go of your peripheral vision and become part of the world. What does the wind really sound like? What does the wind really feel like?

It sounds relaxing, idyllic, at one with nature. Escapism. Freedom. To me I do not feel free, I cannot escape from my thoughts, my reality, the clarity of mind that keeps reminding me that William is not part of the life I’m viewing. The life that I am forced to be part of. By default I am here. Stuck, trapped. Suffocated. The breath knocked out of my lungs, by the wind that laps at my face as I sit there, no freedom, no escapism, just an annoyance, my long hair hitting my face as the unrelenting wind serves to keep me in the present.

As the date looms closer for William’s inquest. Just a little over 3 weeks. Preparing my impact statement seemingly an impossible task. How can i possibly find words adequate enough to write down, to read, to convey the depth of love for my little boy. Although I sit here and I write now. How can I do him justice. I don’t want people to listen to my words, I want those people to close their eyes and feel my words. I would like for just one solitary moment, for those people in that room to feel a tiny bit of my pain. There are no words for that. I cannot put into words the unfathomable pain that courses through my veins. As each day passes I find myself crying more and more, unable to articulate my pain. My body is tired, weary, the end I know is near.

I have an end date. When I close my eyes at the end of another day I mark off the calendar in my mind with a big black marker. Another day over, another day closer to the time when I can finally close my eyes, and open them with my boy.