Today, is two months since you were born. Two whole months! It feels like forever and a day, and yesterday all at the same time. So much has happened in these two months, we have learnt some of life’s toughest lessons and I have no doubt that you will continue to teach us even more in the future. I can’t imagine that the school of grief is one that you graduate from, after all.
I don’t want to feel sad for you today, baby boy. I want to feel happy that you are apart, a momentous part, of our lives. The lessons that you have taught us mean that we are being moulded into different people, because of you. You would have had the power to do this should you have been living, and your power is only greater now that you are not.
I have learnt to have and show compassion. I have learnt that everyone is fighting a secret battle. I have learnt that being honest and open is healthy. I have learnt that the deepest wounds bond people together and can push people a part. I have learnt that your mummy is and will always be my strength, the person who can calm me and heal me. I have learnt just how much you are loved by those around you. I have learnt the devastation of stillbirth and child loss is so great in this world, yet as silent as you were two months ago. I have learnt that there are no rules in grief, and even if there were, it is absolutely okay to break every single one of them. I have learnt that to succeed you have to have hope and belief in your ability to survive, to live, to feel joy. I have learnt that feeling those things is okay, and that my love for you doesn’t correspond with the tears I shed, or the number of dark days that I have.
I am starting to feel irritated. Irritated by the small irritations that happen every day. It has always been easy for these things to bug me, to annoy me. But since I learnt that you weren’t going to come home with us, these small things just evaporated into insignificance. I no longer cared about the small irritations – I became more forgiving, more patient, more understanding. I didn’t disapprove of the things that people said or did not say, because there were more important things to disapprove of. Lately, this is coming back and I don’t like it. I’m sure its just that my brain can handle it now, that I am starting to learn how to integrate the small stuff with the big stuff – find a way for them to sit comfortably alongside each other. It just feels too normal, too familiar. Too much like the way I was before all of this happened, when I was carefree and excited, naive to this world. I guess I just need to find a peace in myself, that its okay to feel like this. Please know that you not being here will always be my biggest irritation though.
I am also loosing my filter, Leo. By writing and sharing our story I have learnt that its okay to be honest, its helpful and therapeutic – not just for me, but for others. However, I am slowly becoming bored of telling people, the people on the more peripheral of this situation, that we are okay or we are as okay as can be expected. It doesn’t really tell anyone what this is like. It doesn’t help anyone learn empathy. It doesn’t help us seek the support or friendship that we need. It also doesn’t help us learn who isn’t up to the challenge.
We are waiting for the answers to all those questions that you were asked. We are waiting for your post mortem results. I am so scared, Leo. I so hope that I didn’t do anything to hurt you. I am so sorry if I did. I never meant to do anything. If you were here though, I’m sure at some point in your life I would have taught you that just because you didn’t mean to do anything, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t take responsibility for the outcome. And that sometimes, just saying sorry really isn’t enough to make the situation better. I know if it was me, or my body, that it was probably out of my control, but that isn’t going to stop me thinking that I failed you. Your mother is meant to protect you all the time, and I couldn’t do that for you. I will say sorry by showing you just how much you mean to me, in everything that I do. I will not let ours lives be defined by your death, they will be defined by your LIFE. I will celebrate your life, your love and your memory forever. I will fight for you. For your newfound friends. For our newfound friends. I will fight.
Its my birthday next week, Leo. We will come and see you and I will try and find a really nice present for you. I hope you are looking after your things. You broke some windmills, but its okay, we will get you some stronger ones. Mummy got me a planter for you for the garden, and we have filled it with lots of yellow flowers for you. Yellow, because we gave you yellow roses when we buried you. I like seeing them in the morning, living for you.
I miss you, my little Leo. Two months gone, but two whole months with you to love, cherish and share with the world – and that, my little Leo, just makes me smile.
I am proud of you, my little Leo.