Today I silently broke down in class. I turned my head away from everyone, leaving them to come up with a reason themselves, of why.
In two weeks, it’s been two years. Out of nowhere the tears just came. Running down my cheeks, like it was still that first week two Years Ago. I try so hard to be brave, to be positive and strong. And I am! But that doesn’t mean I will forget about you and never cry. But sometimes and some days, one word can just break me.
Because I still miss you with everything that I am.
I didn’t get the chance to get to know you, but my body did. And my body will forever know what it’s missing, what I should have had and never got. My heart will forever be missing one piece, the piece you took, and I would never want to take it back. It’s a fact that I’ve not long ago realised.
It’s two years ago that you came into this world, and two years ago that you disappeared. You were so tiny, but at the same time you weren’t. You had your father’s feet. And you were the cutest ever!
We had our time, and our adventures. And I hope I’ll soon be finished writing our story.
One year ago it was your first Birthday. I visited you at the memorial at the cemetery and I had written on the Candle I lit for you. It’s a really peaceful environment, and every candle and every flower and teddy bear feels like it’s for everyone who gets remembered there. Religious or not, it’s a beautiful place.
This year, I don’t have your father’s shoulder to cry on and I don’t really have any support anymore. That might sound harsh, but I do feel lonely and people’s lives moves on. My sorrows are for me to carry, like the one next to me has his to carry.
Like before, I will visit you on your birthday and lit your special candle. I will also pass by my grandfather (and grandmother) and lit a candle for his birthday, which is on the same day as yours. After that I will pass by the memorial of one of my best friends mum and lit her candle. I have gotten into a routine and, somehow, I like the visits.
This might sound really weird, but when my grandmother got buried in 1994 there was this baby, a few months old, who’d also just got buried. His older sibling had put a plastic farm animal on the grave. I was only eleven years old back then, but I never forgot about that boy’s grave. It’s almost next to my grandparents and I always pass it by when I’m there. You might think it’s sad, or horrific even, but last year I saw that no one takes care of it anymore. It saddened me to see that, so this year I will, if no one still hasn’t been there. His name was Benjamin.
When I started writing this, I was crying. But after talking about lighting all the candles in two weeks time, I actually feel better. Your birthday might not be celebrated like it should, if things were different, but we do it our way!
I’ll cry a million times over, for you. But it won’t break me, or pull me down for a longer period. It couldn’t have been different. It is what it is, and like my 99 year old grandmother (my mum’s mum) says: You have your life to live!
My “Pepsi”, my son, I miss you
/ Your mum