I often wonder what it will be like to not feel the awful heaviness in my heart when I think of you or what it would be like not to feel this constant ache in my chest whenever I realise you are gone, that you are not going to grow up and you are not going to be part of our lives physically always. There is so much I can do to remember you, yes, as I have been doing, so much more I can take on and so much more I can write but the fact is that I am here and you are not and every day with you isn’t easy. There are so many people who believe that I will get over you someday, that I will have more children and I will get over the hurt of losing you. But how can I when you were supposed to be here, when I love you the way I do. The world is less beautiful, everything has been tarnished since you left. I go about my day in much the same way I did before you, I go to work, I work hard and hardly take time out, I eat, I go home and I eat supper with your dad and brother, I do not have the energy to play with your brother all the time but I do try. I love most to sit with him in my arms and watch a cartoon or movie and get lost in that imaginary world created for children. I chat to dad, load the dishwasher, hop into bed and go to sleep, I wake and start again. On the weekend I laze about with dad and Brady and I watch more movies or play or go visit family. But between all these motions my heart just hurts and I don’t think losing you will ever feel any less painful. I am angry that you are not with us, that there is nothing new to discover about you. I will never see you in any other way than I did all those months ago and that is just the saddest thing. I cannot trace the contours of your tiny body after a bath or giggle into your tummy and kiss you all over. I can’t smack your tiny bum the way I do Brady’s and hear you laugh in much the same way he does. I can’t tease you that I will chew every inch of you because you are simply not here. You are a part of me and always will be but that part of me is now out of sight, out of reach and simply out of everything. I have come to know, not personally, a lot of bereaved parents who are called grief experts now and I wonder what that actually means, they have found healing through their loss and are able to offer that back to the community which is pretty honourable but I wonder how much time they spend being as bitter as I am, angry at the loss of their babies. I sit on the side lines and I participate where possible but all the while I wonder what good is there actually from the loss of a child, no good, it’s an awful thing and it hurts like hell. I am so broken in so many places and I can’t offer any advice to anyone, I can’t offer any support, I can’t be anything to anyone without you. I hate that you are gone and there is nothing wonderful about that. I write my broken poetry and I write my broken messages of love to you but you never get any of that. You never hear them or read them. I don’t even believe in an afterlife anymore. All I know is I am carrying you in my heart as I once did in my body and that is where you live. I don’t dream of you anymore Zia, the dreams I create are what I desire most but will never come true. I am soulless and I am so terribly miserable about that. I am not a perfect mother, but when I met your brother five years ago I knew I would love him with an insane amount of passion for the rest of my life. I do and it is my love for him that often made me wrap my arms around him from time to time and squeeze him or lie staring at him for hours observing him while he sleeps. It is what drives me to protect him like a lioness. I kept a journal for him through my pregnancy as I did for you, his is not full, I still write in it when I have time. I love everything about the boy, how he smells like baked goods and sweet things and how his eyes glisten with love and trust. How he is kind and generous like your father. I wish I cooked more and baked more and did all the other mother things so diligently but I never quite do, I figure he knows me. I will never have any of that with you Zia, I must be content with loving you from a distance, I must love you in a different way, but how do I change that when I hear your name my arms physically ache to hold you, how do I change that I need to see you, that when I talk of you I simply cry, desperately, painfully. I am lost and I am lonely and I do not want to be fixed, I want to sit in the rain and have it soak into my hair and clothes, I want to walk until there are blisters on my feet in the hope of finding you. I want to walk into the ocean and drown with the absence of you, I want to fly off the edge of cliff and fall into the despair I am in. That is my life Zia, my life that will never make sense. I hate writing cards or sending people birthday messages, I say “from all of us” and often brave “From Brian, Jo, Brady and Zia”, but writing your name hurts and it kills me to do. I have no pictures of you, nothing left, nothing to liken you to, you are gone and the world expects me to move along and heal but heal from what exactly when I was never ill, nor were you. I have heard that time heals all wounds, does it really, all of it, am I to expect you to come back to me then, at the end of time.