” I miss you now every moment. I ache for you. Always. I continuously relive our precious moments together, wishing I could hold you once again, kiss your sweet head and tell you it will be all right. Mostly, I wish it could be all right. That you could be here, with us, whole and well and happy.
I wish I could be watching you eat hungrily, hear your coos, your cries, see your eyes open. I wish I could have seen your eyes. I wish I could be staring at them now and wondering what colour they will be. Instead, I am looking at your empty cot and the shelves where there are still spaces for your pictures.
Oh, my sweet, sweet baby – I miss you. I miss you endlessly and tremendously. I wish we had had more time together. Though I am grateful we had any time at all, it wasn’t enough.
I am trying to forgive myself for what happened, even though I know it was not my fault. Even as I tell myself it wasn’t my fault, I cannot help but blame myself and feel as though I’ve failed you. I am so very sorry. I will love you always. I am watching the sunset right now and loving you.
I strive to lead a more meaningful, loving life because of you, for you. I will dedicate all I do to you, honouring your memory. I want to make you proud, to be worthy of you. Yet each new day, moment and milestone without you hurts. You will always be missing. I have been told that the pain becomes less sharp over time, and I expect that will be the case, but I will continue to feel the weight of your absence.I sometimes imagine that there is a parallel reality alongside this one in which you are well and whole and were born safely. I imagine finding the subtle knife necessary to slice between worlds; visiting you and not returning. Staying there with you, and with our whole family well and together – living happily ever after in what should have happened, rather than what did. I am slowly accepting that it cannot be undone, but, oh, how I wish it could be.
Cradling you in my arms now, my sweet baby, you are with me always.
Your ever-loving mother”
This is part of a letter printed in Saturday’s Guardian . Although it is written by a mother whose child died at birth ,it is very similar to how I feel , but somehow find it very hard to express