Today should have been one filled with nervous excitement, joy and quiet apprehension. We should have struggled to sleep last night but still woken up with a start, eager to get out of the house and to the hospital. We should have held hands as the midwife explained the induction process and spent the day breathing through pains, giggling at nonsense, worried about what the next few weeks would be like and eventually cried with joy at hearing our son’s cries for the first time.
Today has been one filled with sadness, heartache and all consuming grief. We have played the ‘what if’ game 100 times over and wondered whether in a parallel universe everything played out as it should. We’ve looked at eachother and not needed to say a word but known exactly what the other was thinking about. We’ve watched people go about their day in silence and seen everyone else’s world continue to turn when ours feel as though it has been on pause today.
Today is hard.
We’re currently in Cornwall for the week, in a beautiful little cottage in the middle of nowhere. The roads for 10 miles around us are single track with grass growing down the middle, enclosed in canopies of trees. It is the epitome of peacefulness. Whilst we cannot escape our grief and the pain is still throbbing in our hearts, it feels a little easier to breathe here. I cried at the ocean yesterday. The emormity and sheer power of it made me feel so tiny and insignificant. In comparison to the rest of the world I am nothing at all and our baby was barely a speck, but to us he was everything and what we feel now is everything. I struggled to make sense of it all and being thrown around in a boat by this huge force that I had no control over whatsoever was very overwhelming.
I think he would have liked the sea. We would have splashed about in it, made sandcastles on the beach and buried daddy’s feet in the sand. I would have licked ice cream off his face in that way only a mother can do with her child without it being gross. Daddy would have carried him back to the car and he would have fallen asleep clutching his bucket in one hand and spade in the other. Imagining these things don’t make me feel sad. We don’t have many memories of him so it’s nice imagining what his life would have been like. It’s easier for us now to picture him without any of the constraints his health problems would have caused and without any of the challenges he might have faced. He’s just free to live the most perfect life.