2015: The Year of Aneurin

“You must be so pleased to see the back of this year.” 
“2016 can be a fresh start for you.”
“A new year will help you move on.” 
My 9 most liked photos on Instagram in 2015. Why would I want to move on from this?
2015 has been the best year of my life with the worst
ending. It is the year I saw two pink lines for the first time, the year I
truly understood the meaning of unconditional love, the year I became a mum.
The year my heart grew a thousand times bigger and shattered a thousand times
more than I had ever thought possible.
On 9th January 2015 I wandered into our living room in a
complete daze and tried to convince my husband the word ‘not’ probably flashed
up a few minutes after the word ‘pregnant’ on the magical piece of plastic
clutched in my hand only to discover it didn’t. Four (cheaper, because those
wordy ones are expensive…) tests later and the disbelief made way for sheer,
never felt before, joy. The rapid swing between disbelief and joy didn’t stop there. It carried on in different ways and for different reasons with a mass of other contrasting emotions throw in for good measure. 
In the first few weeks after Aneurin was born I wanted desperately to fast forward the grieving process. I wanted to heal and put myself back together. Now though, I want to sit with my grief for a bit longer. I want to feel that deep sadness that bores its way into my soul. I want to feel the scary, vastness of a life without Aneurin. I want to sob and wail until I can’t breathe because it means he’s still important. It means he is present and still the biggest part of my life. Putting myself back together and healing is scary. Far scarier than Aneurin not being here with us. 
I know he will never be gone. He is always with us, every step of the way. We keep him alive by talking about him, by remembering him and by honouring him. Our lives might develop and take new meaning but Aneurin was and will always be our first child. 
Today is the last day of this year. It is also five months to the day our big footed, soft cheeked boy was born. Five endings and five beginnings. Aneurin was in each and every one of those and I know he will be in the thousands more to come. 
I don’t want to move into 2016 without our son. I don’t want to have to say ‘last year’, I want to be able to say ‘this year’. I don’t want Aneurin to be my past, I want him to be my present and my future. I want to relive this year, including all the heartbreak and pain, a million times over. However, as always with grief, there is another facet. The one that brings hope. The hope that we might see the word ‘pregnant’ or two pink lines again next year. The hope that the love for our beautiful boy will start to overpower the pain of his loss. The hope that we find meaning in why he isn’t here with us.
2015 was all about Aneurin and I’m not ready for that to be over. I need five more minutes. I will always need five more minutes. And so tonight, I won’t be celebrating the year to come, I’ll be celebrating the wonderful year that has passed.

Wishing you all a peaceful 2016,

Mrs D x


  1. January 1, 2016 / 12:57 pm

    This is such a beautiful tribute to your boy, Elena. Of course it doesn't feel right to let go and move on – it's been such a short space of time, and 2016 wasn't supposed to start like this for you.

    I hope that it's a beautiful year, that it's filled with healing and peace and – dare I say it – joy. Big, big hugs to you.

  2. January 16, 2016 / 11:31 pm

    What Lovely words.
    All the best for 2016 also.

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