Lying in bed listening to my littlest boy breathe, feeling his soft hand against my cheek and not being afraid the next song on the radio will tear my heart out, those are the things happiness is made of these days. And that happiness reminds me of just how brutally sad it is possible to be. That is life now, the happy, the remembered sad, the wry smile and the carry on.
This is what infant loss awareness month is for me now; a mini grief that grief is manageable, an acknowledgement that it is part of me but not the piece of me that needs help and treatment in itself. It has left scars and the scars have complications of their own, but the wound itself is clean and mended, such as it ever will be. This year has been about the biggest problems not being grief, about managing consequences, about a little brother who asks where is brother is, asks for explanations of what he sees in photos, asks to unwrap the blanket on the shelf to see if his brother hides inside.
‘Is he inside? Freddie’s blanket is round, so he might be. Can we look?’
This year I was out for the Wave of Light, giving time to other peoples’ children, because the time is right now to do that, not weep at home. My candle and my thoughts we late but they were still there.
My little boy is fading, a blessing and a curse but the boy himself? I’m still glad he came. More glad than ever.