That face xxx
I’m exhausted sweetheart, exhausted from the constant searching, searching every one of your photos, for a tiny scrap of comfort; but there is none. Sitting on the floor in your nursery, searching for something to touch, something to hold, to smell, to hold close to my heart, hoping that somehow I will feel closer to you. Absorbing myself in the smile that emanates from every photo, it is hard to imagine that it was your mummy smiling right back at you, the other side of that camera. Now, there is no camera lens between us, there is a lifetime.
I feel like I am floating around an ocean in a little rowing boat, a battered rowing boat, guided only by the moonlight, rowing as hard as I can, but I don’t know why, because the boat is filling up with water faster than I can row. I can’t see land. I don’t know where I’m going. It’s getting harder to row, the will power it takes to pick the oars up, the strength it takes to row is overwhelming, the idea of succumbing to the water becomes more and more inviting as each day passes.
The truth is I don’t know how to live without you and I don’t want to learn. Why should I? Is it because that’s what I am ‘supposed’ to do? Because I have no choice? Because the alternative is something people brush under the carpet, but I do have a choice, this is my life, and my choice. Some people say that is selfish, but isn’t it selfish to ask me to endure a lifetime of pain so they don’t lose me. The pain of grief is unrelenting, you can’t take a tablet and hope it’ll ease in half an hour. You can’t put a plaster on it. It is there every second of your waking day, and then when you manage to get some sleep, the nightmares make sure to keep you in the present. Waking up more exhausted than you were when you went to bed.
I stand in front of the mirror every morning and I don’t recognise the reflection staring back at me. What I see is broken, a shadow of the person that used to stand in front of the same mirror. Without you William I don’t feel like I belong, after all you are part of me, the only person to ever hear my heart beating from the inside. An unwavering bond that intensifies with every beat of my heart, but the beating hurts, the memories hurt, living hurts. I miss being able to touch you, hug you, and to be with you, I can’t hug memories, I feel like I’m trapped within 4 walls, every direction I go, life is an obstacle, suffocating and stifling. I miss the euphoric feeling that gripped me on each of your 382 days. Being with you, made me feel 10 feet tall, made me feel free, gave me a sense of belonging. Until I find you again, I will keep searching, and I know that I won’t belong anywhere until I find you.
A Mother Without a Child 
So beautiful. so how I feel..never will get over this or used to it
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I don’t know where to even begin…
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What a gorgeous little boy. I’m so sorry this is your life now. I know that feeling of being out on an ocean so well, that’s the way I always want to describe it too. Like a tiny tiny speck bobbing up and down, just feeling utterly futile and irrelevant. I know I can’t help, but I’m thinking about you nonetheless. And not in that throwaway platitude sense- I mean really, genuinely I am with you. Sending love.
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The pain of losing your son will never go away and it shouldn’t, because it connects you to William in every part of your body and mind. He is with you forever in your pain. No one can take that away from you. Over time you will only learn to live with the pain. In one year…maybe in 5 years, but one day you will.
When you have your first child, you love so deeply, unconditional as you did never before. There seems to be no space in your heart for any other child. Than you give birth to your second child and you find space and love in your heart. Your heart expands, not taking away any of the love you have for your first child. And so it continues with every child you bring into this world, into your family. As a mother you love so deeply and suffer so deeply for each of them.
You are not selfish and you have every right to be in pain, but you need to survive. There is another star in the sky, waiting for you to be picked up, just like William was there for you, you need to be there for someone else.
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My beautiful Mel…There are no words your miracle was amazing, they’re no other children to ease just your memories of your miracle…
I’m here for you xx
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Your words reflect not only your struggle, but those of bereaved parents. So articulately, personally written from the depths of your heart and grief, it speaks volumes. Hugs from another mom missing her son…Becky
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This is so heartbreaking. What happened to you, your family and your gorgeous boy is cruel beyond belief. My dad also called William, also died of sepsis 27 years ago. It shouldn’t have happened then and it shouldn’t have happened now to your beautiful boy. I had no idea that it killed so many people and yet we seldom hear about it. I don’t know if this will help in any way but I know a family that went through the same loss as you many years ago. They were in a dark place for a long time, but their grief did eventually lessen, though it never goes away. The little girl they lost is always with them, but they did go on to have more children and now grandchildren and found a new happiness in their lives eventually. I hope this can be you one day. I hope you are getting all the help you need to get through this awful time. You sound like such a wonderful mum to your little boy. I don’t know if this is the right thing to say or not and I know William will always be with you but I hope, in time, another child is lucky enough to have you as their mum. I agree totally with Anita Klaus.xx
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