It has remained too difficult to write since my last post, 4 months ago. But today, it is one year since Freddie was born. One year since we cradled our son in our arms, never to see him wake up.
I feel as if I have been to war. I feel as if I am still there.
Sam and I are closer than ever; the connection between us keeps us strong – formidable even – and it is what has kept me going over the last year. Without Sam I cannot say where I would be right now: it is as if, having been through this with me twice, he is the only one capable of really supporting me; the only one with the strength and the tools to get us through 365 days of fervent hell. Or maybe it’s because he’s my true other half, and he feels my pain like no one else ever will.
Our son would be one today. I will bake him a cake to mark the day, and of course we will visit his grave; I hope that the flowers we planted are beginning to come up.
We love our son, and the stinging, throbbing ache for his life is still there more than ever; I still have not been able to empty his clothes from the small, white wardrobe or from the drawers in the dresser. Nor can I look at them.
365 days ago, Freddie came into this world too soon, and will never know how much we love him. He will always be our firstborn son. One day, I hope that we will have the strength to celebrate the life that we made, rather than the one we lost.
To Freddie: one year and we love you more than ever.