Totally lost without you

That face xxx

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.


You can’t fix this kind of broken

Facing the world without you is a daily uphill climb. I have been finding it increasingly harder to manage to get through each day, but you probably know that, you can probably see me, I just wish I could see you. The reality of you never coming home is starting to sink in, you’re not coming home.

I’m never going to be woken up by you gently babbling to your reindeer. I’m never going to watch you struggle to pick up the pieces of peach that were too slippy for you to grab. I miss my little companion who used to help me post the balls from your ball pool through the stair gate into the kitchen, some of those balls still sit by the dishwasher. Touched last by you, posted so meticulously through the stair gate, and picked so carefully from the box of balls.

Your toothbrush and toothpaste still takes pride of place in the cup under the sink. We didn’t even get through your first tube of toothpaste. Your bath toys still hang in the basket on the side of the bath, although really you preferred the shower. When you knew it was that time in the evening, you’d crawl to the bottom of the stairs and wait. Daddy would follow you as you climbed each step, every movement an achievement, watching you learn to become independent. You’d wait patiently by the shower, waiting to be undressed, and that was it, you’d climb in and sit right under the shower head, clenching your little fists with excitement. The first time you climbed into the shower with mummy, she was watching you, observing your big brown eyes taking everything in, your facial expression changing, mummy could see you making your decision, slowly you turned to look at me ‘it’s ok sweetheart’ I encouraged you, you understood in your own little way, your fear subsiding and your curiosity taking over, you climbed straight in and sat right by my feet. Your new discovery became part of you bedtime routine. You were making your own choices. Learning by discovering.

Your little coat still hangs on your peg. Untouched. So small and dwarfed by mummy and daddy’s coats but so prominent. Your little coat hanging there holds so much meaning, it is still YOUR peg, you are still part of this family, our refusal to move it a constant reminder of what was, we didn’t choose this. Your bibs are still in the drawer, your cereal boxes still on the shelf. Your toys are all still lined up in the lounge where you left them, mummy has had to dust them occasionally, imagine that, dusty toys, that wouldn’t happen if you were around. Nothing staying still long enough to become dusty. Some of the DVD’s on the shelf are still upside down, although you know mummy likes to have things just so, she’s left them, the way you left them, a constant reminder that you touched them.

Spring is upon us and Summer seems to be just around the corner. The world seems to be waking from the cold winter. Flowers are starting to blossom, filling the garden with their fragrance and beauty.  The birds singing as they enjoy the leafy trees that were bare only a few weeks ago. Somehow it seemed apt that it was cold, bleak, and gloomy outside. It doesn’t seem right that the rest of the world is warming up and soaking up the joys of what Spring brings, new life, new baby lambs, the gardens awakening under the heat of the sun and you are not here to enjoy it with us. To know that you’ll never hear the birds singing, never sit in your paddling pool in the garden splashing in the water, never sit on the beach and eat the sand. All of those plans are gone, our whole future that we planned with you is gone. I was sitting on the bed the other day looking out the window and as my eyes focused they noticed your hand print. Mummy used to hold you whilst you stood on the windowsill looking at the cars and the birds. ‘wassat’ you’d say as you pointed eagerly at the birds. Putting your tiny little hand print on mummy’s windows. It’s still there. Mummy looks at it everyday, a reminder that you were once here. You touched that glass. You left your mark.

On your last day at nursery,  you made us a Christmas tree, and when you came home you had glitter in your hair and your ear. Then just 36 hours later it didn’t seem possible that mummy was sat cradling your tiny little body, when just a few short days earlier you had been busying yourself making that Christmas tree.  There is a fleck of glitter that remains in your cot, sometimes it catches the sun and I imagine you sitting in nursery with your hands covered in glitter, enjoying yourself, discovering new textures and shapes.  Mummy used to love sitting and watching you play, watch you thinking, watch you figuring out a shape and making a decision, then you’d catch my eye, mummy couldn’t help but smile and you would crawl over for a cuddle. How can you be gone?

The last thing you ever touched, your blue sippy cup still lays in exactly the same position, in your cot, right where you left it, after you had your last drink at 5am. Mummy has picked it up a couple of times, wrapping my fingers around the handles, mimicking your tiny little fingers around those exact same handles. Mummy misses you, but you probably know that. Do you watch me every night standing at your window? I talk to you, do you hear me? Missing you isn’t the problem, it’s knowing you’re never coming back that’s destroying me. Sometimes people tell me that you’re in a better place, but we both know that a better place would be right here with me. The simple fact is I don’t know how to live without you, and I just don’t want to.

Lonely, amongst a crowd

Today has been really hard, no particular reason that today or this morning was worse than any other morning.  Didn’t sleep well as usual, sat and thought all night about Williams last night before he died, was he in pain?  Did he struggle for breath? Could he cry out? The longer I lay there in the silence during the night the more these questions penetrate. By the time this morning came around I felt total despair.

I sat in Williams room crying as the day started, cuddling his reindeer, blaming myself for him not being here, feeling guilty for not taking him to hospital, thinking if I’d been a better mum would he still be here?  I know all of these things are untrue, I was reassured and advised by doctors we were doing the right thing, and I know that I was the best mum to him, he knew that and I know that from the complete happiness he displayed in everything he did, how he loved,  how he laughed, how he grew and how he learnt.

All of my thoughts and feelings are so overwhelming, completely over powering. I don’t know how other parents may feel after they’ve lost a child so needlessly? But I can’t help but feel feelings of blame or guilt, completely unfounded and misguided but it’s natural instinct to protect your child, and my child died so therefore I feel like I failed.

I feel so alone because no one understands these feelings or the reasoning, perhaps because there is none, but they haven’t experienced this, so how can they know how I feel? They try, but how can they understand it if I don’t?

I feel so alone, amongst a room full of family and friends.