Four.

I resent this.

I resent that it is four years since Freddie’s birth and that we have survived.

I resent that I’m worth more, more meaningful, less stupid, because of him. Because of his death.

I resent that we have learned to make the best of it. I resent that instead of cake and candles and presents for a little boy, we go out – without him – and have a good time. That it is a day we look forward to. That we make the best of it.

I resent how sad the eyes of my girls are as I panda to stiff upper lipped preference and don’t mention his name. I’m not sure if any of us said his name aloud today. I resent that I didn’t cry till bedtime and cried in silence, unremarked upon. I resent that I’ve turned into someone who accepts a silent hug and doesn’t chew my feelings over in spoken word.

But.

People said his name for me. People wrote and cared and told their children and sent me photographs and thought of us. Made daffodils, saw daffodils, sent daffodils.

I might be angry with the world tonight, too angry to write about the lovely day we had and how much those thoughts and words and images lifted me up and held me but I am grateful. I wasn’t angry today. I was happy and peaceful and cared about.

And it did help. So much. More than you can imagine. Thank you. I can’t make those words bigger. I wish I could.

I just wish I was lighting a different sort of candle. I wish I still associated daffodils with a different lost boy. I wish angry was not the lasting emotion. But thank goodness for grateful. Thank goodness for love.

I just really wish I had a serious dark eyes little boy falling asleep clutching his first special car book from daddy after a day racing a new scalextric and worn out from a soft play party. I wish I was tucking him up to bed and knew none of this stupid, awful, pointless grief.

It is still just so unfair.