So my Facebook feed was full of pictures of 4 year old's starting school the last week or so and I don't begrudge anyone. I am overjoyed for those friends' children that I am close to and I share in their happiness and proudness.
I just wish it was me.
The hardest part of the path of the bereaved parent is when life goes on. Because it does. There will always be occasions where a bereaved parent will think that their angel should be doing this or that and its a hard pill to swallow if I am truly honest.
I have always said to friends I have made a long the way who lose their child, that the first year is the hardest. Without a doubt. The first day without them, first week, first month, first birthday, first anniversary.... you expect it to be hard because your whole life is now perceived through the eyes of someone who has had to sad goodbye to a child.
What no one tells you is that the subsequent year is the absolute worse. It's as if the first anniversary of their death means 'everyone' can say 'it's done' - not in a malicious way but its almost as if it shouldn't be in the mind's eye. What warms my heart so much is when someone texts me or Facebook's (I'm more of a Facebooker than a Tweeter) to say I am thinking of you/I thought of them today/This reminds me of them. You may think there is such innocence in that but it is rare for someone to say that.
Losing my first two babies was the worse thing ever to happen to me. Without a doubt. But I was 'lucky' enough to warrant the selfishness that meant I had no small person/s to need me to get up every day and tend to them. If I wanted to lie in bed all day, watch rubbish on TV, not eat or eat til I am sick, then I could. For me, I take my hat off to parents who have lost a child but have children still earth bound that need mummy and daddy not to fall apart on a daily basis. Such is an acquaintance, a fellow blogger, Andy - he lost his beautiful, darling little boy to HLHS, a month ago. He is so eloquent and puts his grief into surmisable words, sentences that I can only dream of. Ned has a twin, a surviving twin.
I looked for similarities when Princess was born between her and the boys and they were there until she was about 3 months old. I don't see any now as I don't know what I am looking for, to be honest. But I cannot imagine opening my eyes every day, to see the child I watch die, the child I buried, staring back at me in the form of his twin.
It must take another level of strength that I am not sure I could deal with. As I count down the days, 21 to be exact, to the eldest's anniversary, there is nothing more that I would want to do is to crawl into bed, pull the duvet over my head and to stay there until the 2nd October.
But I can't.
For I have a two year old that needs her mummy and I refuse to fall to pieces in front of her. I want her to know her brothers in fondness and happiness. I want her to know that she is loved for her and not because we lost them. I want her to know that I love them all equally but differently.
I can manage that on a daily basis, 3 years and 49 weeks down the line. I have my wobbles, around the important dates but I keep that to me until she is asleep.
I just cannot imagine having to do that from the first day I lost the eldest. I just can't.
