5 years ago today was Freddie’s due date. I’ve thought about that, rather than him, a lot today. How I could have demanded that scan harder, or listened to my doubts harder. How I could have bottled it and asked for him to come out today.
5 years ago I thought I was on the cusp of a whole new world, a respite from guilt and sadness, and a fresh start.
It was certainly a new world that was coming.
5 years feels an insult. I’m angry I’ve survived and angry so much time has passed. I’m remote from him and silenced and he slips through my fingers daily, consigned to a battened down grief and a kind of torn paper fracture in the house. A gentle fracture but one that all our early days togetherness can’t repair.
This year his birthday will go wrong. The weather will be dreadful and we won’t know what to do. It’s going to go wrong and I care very much about that and yet can’t seem to mind either.
It’s never ending, grief. Never ending.