Today is the one year anniversary of me being released from the hospital. I was released early so that I could come and see you, even though you had already died. I was afraid to see you, afraid of what you would look like and how it would feel to hold you after you’d gone.
When we arrived at the hospital you were in, I soon realised that none of my worries mattered. There you were, so tiny, so perfect, and you were mine. I cried as I went to you, all of the reality of the situation sinking in as I felt your cold skin. Babies shouldn’t have cold skin. They should be lovely and warm. But even that didn’t matter.
The weight of you felt just like it belonged in my arms. The way it felt to hold you – I was complete for those moments, moments that didn’t last nearly long enough. I felt as though my heart would rip right out of my chest when I had to leave you there.
After we saw you and said goodbye, we went home. Home to a house that felt so empty despite the big energy of Jacob. Daddy had put all of your things away which made it feel even more empty, I was so used to all of the baby things scattered everywhere ready for your arrival. Things that were all chosen with such care and such purpose. I had our routine all planned out in my mind.
All of these milestones so close together. Your birth, your death, the last time I saw you, my birthday, when we flew to Canada, when you arrived in Canada and we saw your casket, your service. It is really no wonder I feel so exhausted…so incredibly exhausted.
I can’t believe I’ve survived a year. A year with you being gone. A year since I last saw your perfect face and held you in my arms. I think I must be able to survive anything now. There is nothing that could be harder to live through than life without you.
Some days I see a happy ending. Mummy, daddy, Jacob and more children, but always keeping you a part of our family. Some days trying to imagine the future just feels like too much, and so I concentrate on the here and now. That seems to help take the enormity of it all away. One day at a time.
Always in my heart my Finley,
love, mummy xox