I like that Otis’ passing is still so raw, mainly for the sheer ignorance of people around me. Many of the people I know ASSUME that, as time passes, my son’s life will become less important to me and his death less upsetting. Being only 3 months past burying my baby gives me ‘permission’ from the world to cry. Being only 3 months past burying my baby is ‘validation’ that it’s okay to not want to get out of bed some days. I get scared. In fact, I would go as far as saying it TERRIFIES me, knowing that one day, people will think I’m stupid for crying.
But, at the same time, I HATE that his passing is still so raw. I want to get to the stage where I have learned to accept my new ‘normal’ … I want to get to the stage where I have learned to live without my son. I don’t want to feel like I do every. single. day.
Being a mummy to the most perfectly beautiful little angel baby is an honour, it’s a blessing and I am beyond thankful that Otis chose me. If I had the chance to choose between Otis and a happy, healthy, living but DIFFERENT baby, I would choose Otis. In every world, at any time, in any circumstances, I would choose him. If choosing him and losing him meant being given the chance to love him, then I would choose him.
He is my son and I am SO proud of him. Otis is a very special little boy. He is moving mountains from the stars. Otis has done more in his 35 weeks of life than some people do in a lifetime. He doesn’t need to be here to make me proud. His sheer determination to live; his courage to fight against all the odds stacked against him; is enough to make me proud of him for the rest of my life. Until I breathe my last breath, I will be proud of him.
Being a mummy to a little boy who never opened his eyes is the hardest thing I have EVER had to do. All the pain I have ever experienced in my life, combined, doesn’t even come remotely close to the pain I felt hearing those words – ‘I’m sorry, he’s gone.’
Being a mummy to a little boy who never cried, laying him down into his moses basket knowing it was the very last time I would ever see him, it’s a level of pain beyond understanding – I couldn’t put it in to words if I tried.
Though I may not get to see him, I may not get to cuddle him, I may not get to kiss him and read him bedtime stories, I may not have been able to bring him home, I may not be able to hear his first word or watch him walk, I may not be able to take him to nursery or school, I may not be able to watch him grow, I promise you that I love my son just as much as you love yours.
I promise you that I would do for him, what you would do for yours.
So, what IS it like, being a mummy to a child who has passed away? Let me put it this way:
Despite the pain, the tears, the sleepless nights, the graveside stories the funeral planning and the last goodbye … I would rather be a mummy to my son who has passed away, than to have never known him.