Phoenix February

Another morning opening my eyes and having to adjust to a life without you.  I feel as though there is very little my brain can think about without it latching onto the sadness of your absence.  If we talk about last year's holiday,  or Christmas, or my job,  anything really,  I am hit by a colossal shockwave reminder that we had a complete journey together only to fail at the end.  I can't piece that together.  When I look to the future and try to make plans to heal, once again I am choking on the silence of your departure.  How can a day get filled with so much but yet be so empty.

I still sleep on my side.  All those times you wriggled and kicked in my tummy and I swore that as soon as you were here I would relish being able to sleep on my front.  But I find that impossible to do, my instinct won't allow it because if you aren't here being nursed and cuddled then you MUST be still enjoying the warmth of my body from inside.  There is no other rational explanation.  All those weeks and weeks of frustration and annoyance at how hard I was finding the physical act of carrying you, and now I find myself desperate to feel that again,  because it doesn't compare to the pain of never placing kisses on your warm body.

I said to your Dada last night that so many grieving parents are owned by their sorrow.  They are the product of the event of death and want to tell you their stories in detail over and over again.   I don't want to be a prisoner to your passing, I want to fill my lungs with life and take what I have of you with me everywhere I go.   I want to tell everyone about your life, not your death.  When I am asked about my children,  you are always my little bird,  my youngest, you are part of it all.   I will strive to turn this around for you,  because I truly believe my darling Freddie, that you will be more at peace through our love and happiness than through morose confusion.  I will try so hard for you, but for now we are taking fairy steps,  we are creeping forward with gritted teeth.  We long for recent history to be rewritten but we know your future is certain.  It all converges in the end Fred, this bit in the middle may be of little consequence.  A small speck, or blink of the eye before an eternity reunited in the same field.  We have forever to play,  perhaps for now it is I who sleeps.  Mummy can't wait to open her eyes and see you.

Xxx