How It Feels.

How does it feel to be without you in my arms and desperately want you to still be there?

I don't know if I have ever tried to describe this feeling, this nightmare, this soul destroying, devastating loss.  I don't think I've tried to describe it to anyone.

I am tired Haydon.  I am so tired by the constant waves and the whirlpool that sometimes I can't escape from.  The waves that sometimes drown me, and other times I can keep myself afloat..just.

Some days, like today.  I have this tightness in my heart.  This grip of pain, like a fist holding and twisting me on the inside.  I cry.  Sometimes, like today I scream in silence, in silence I will shout your name over and over and then scream it again, I will ache, physically ache for you, for you to be near me.  Some days I feel everyone hears me, and other times I feel that noone can.

Even on a good day, because I am having a few more of these just now, even on those days, I feel the burning of tears behind my eyes, everywhere I go.  I feel the stabbing pain in my heart when I hear a baby cry, or a foot sticking up from a pram, or see an advert on T.V. promoting First Christmas gifts.
Deep inside my heart I feel the agony of never being able to buy those things for you, this wouldn't have been your first Christmas but it would have been your first Christmas at home.

Sometimes I am suffocated, I can't get a breath, I can't find air.  Through the tears I will gasp and sob and hold myself so tightly, sometimes I rock with the pain of missing you, and I feel I am losing my grip, feel like I'm going mad.  But I am not mad, or crazy.  I am missing you.

Sometimes I go for a bath so that I can cry and cry, bubbles in my bubbles.
Sometimes I look at my body and I see the evidence that I carried you.  The scar that runs along my tummy. The memories and the knowing that you grew inside me and I had to let you go.  Sometimes I find comfort in that scar.  Sometimes I hate it.

Sometimes I have panic attacks.  I realise that I can't hold you, touch you.  I feel the ground slips away and I'm dropped into that sea, struggling to breath in, feeling that I can't keep swimming like this forever. Like last night, through the night.  Sitting on the edge of the bed trying hard to breath in and out and let the panic pass, while my heart thumps heavily in my chest, too fast and too loud in my ears.

The waves come, I am carried along with the tide, everyday, every minute, every second.  I could get thrown into the rocks at any time, there is often no warning that it is going to happen.

I only know it has happened when I'm lying broken, screaming in agony, hurting and holding myself, or being held by Daddy, until that wave decides it has hurt me enough for that day, or hour, or minute.

This pain isn't getting better.  But I am discovering that sometimes I can recover from the crash more quickly.

Some days I can't.

Daddy feels this way too, but he never tells people Haydon, he never says how much he misses you because he doesn't want people to feel sad for him, or to offer comfort because he would react to that and might not be able to get back up from the floor.  But when Mummy hears that people have been asking how she is, she always asks Daddy if they asked him too.  Most times they don't

One of daddy's best friends told him the other day that it must be so hard for Mummy.  Daddy was brave and told him that it is just as hard for him, and some days he is completely drowning in the pain and the memories.
I am proud of him for saying, to someone apart from me, that he hurts too.

Today is one of those days where Mummy has been strong for a couple of days in a row,and now the crash has happened.  It will pass, or at least I will get my head out of the water and be able to breath again.  I might be able to find words, because today I am having trouble speaking because the tears are sitting there ready, and I have been trying to outrun them since I got up.
I might be able to keep dodging them.
For a while.

We love you bubba.  We just do.
We ache for you baby boy.  We just do.

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