It’s a special kind of Remembrance Day today… and my heart seems to know it. I can’t stop thinking about you.
It’s been a rough week in a lot of ways, and this morning it all came out. It’s cold and wet and windy outside, and your brother was grumpy and crying over every little thing (he’s two, so he’s very stubborn), and Daddy is recovering from surgery this week… and suddenly it was all too much. I have not been taking time for myself – for you – in weeks. This is not good… but it’s hard to find balance when I’m back to at work, where I can’t let myself be sad.
I didn’t have specific plans to commemorate this day. It’s miserable out, so I don’t feel like taking a walk, or releasing balloons, or visiting a special place… my body decided it was a good time to just cry. I am feeling antisocial and very tired… but it’s a perfect day for candles. I’m lighting a candle. I am wearing your ashes around my neck. And I’m finally writing to you, instead of about you, for the first time since the letter I wrote you on the day you were born.
It’s been over three months (15 weeks, to be exact), since I held you in my arms, five-and-a-half weeks before you were due to arrive. Less than two weeks from now, we have an appointment with a specialist, to try to figure out what made you sick, and to get our own blood tests done. We are starting to think about trying again to make a brother or sister for you and E, but I’m afraid – worried that combining pregnancy and grief will be too much. Scared of the anxiety I will feel.
Right now, I wish I could remember your face more clearly. It was so beautiful, and the few pictures we have don’t show how you really looked. I wish I could give you more kisses and hugs. I wish you could be here for the fun times we have in our family, even as we miss you. E knows you were here and that you couldn’t stay – he holds onto my pendant and says, “Sebastian’s in there, but he’s gone.” He likes to hold his angel bear our friend gave him, with the necklace – and a message from you – around its neck.
On a chilly day like this, I like to think about where you are. I picture your home like the centre of a candle flame, tucked inside my heart: a warm, bright place where all you feel is the love surrounding you. Maybe you even have your own little angel bear to keep you company – your tiny sister or brother begun before E, who didn’t have the chance to grow a heartbeat, but who I know is somewhere safe and good.
I love you, sweet boy. I miss you. I’m glad I have the chance to shed these tears and hold you close in my thoughts today.