Your Last Day

Dear Haddie Bo Bo,

A lot has been going on.

Today Fitz is 2 days shy of being 10 months. This is how old you were on the day you died. I have dreaded this day since the moment I found out I was pregnant with him. I knew it would come, he would turn 10 months. He will eventually call me Mama, and take his first steps. These milestones make me happy. I love seeing how he has grown. But if I am being honest it also makes me very angry. It is just not fair, you should have called me Mama. You should have taken your first steps. These moments were stolen from us. From you. It hurts. I have no control over it. I can’t fix it or change it. The only option is to live with it. To live with this very heavy burden that sits in the middle of my chest and makes it hard to breath. I saw another bereaved mom post on facebook and she said how must it hurts to look at her child’s pictures. I have felt this on many occasions. I haven’t been able to say it out loud though. It seemed like a crime to think it. There are moments I treasure your photos and I stare at them. There have been several occasions that I sit and watch your videos for hours. But there are also times where I look away. It is too painful to see your face. It get that. I had a “me too” moment. You never think that an image of your child would cause you so much unspeakable pain.

We have decided to move.

We sold the house where we first became parents. I won’t be able to see the places that I remember you in daily. The patio door where you were standing, and then crawled over to me on your last morning. I won’t be able to sit on the floor of your room, holding you teddy bear, and trying to inhale the last of your scent off your blankets. But I know this is the right move for our family. I am so glad we did not bury you. I would not be able to leave you here. But when we do pack up and move you will ride with us in our car. I will not pack you into a box, ever. You will have a room in our new house. When we were looking I made sure that you would have a room. Your Daddy and I were discussing what we would do with your ashes down the road. I said maybe I would bury you someday if Eloise didn’t want the responsibility of having your ashes. Then your Daddy said that when I die, you could be buried with me. I haven’t thought about this until now. I immediately started to cry. I know my time here is not done, Eloise and Fitz need me. But I will tell you that the thought of us being together again is so comforting. I look forward to it everyday. I long for that moment. There are no words for the ache I feel for you. I think that is why I haven’t been writing to you so much these last few months. I sometimes feel like I have said all there is to say and those words are not enough. They do not describe the utter sorrow that I feel. The emptiness that is a constant, and the unexplained loneliness.

I haven’t been able to figure out how I feel about leaving the town where you died. I won’t have to drive past the rode where you passed away. I have done that and imagined what the scene looked like that day. It is a surreal feeling to know that police and paramedics raced to get to you with lights flashing and sirens blaring. Whenever I pull over to let an ambulance pass I always think of you and that day. I always wonder what is happening inside that ambulance. What is that story, and how will it change their lives? Will they survive? Why couldn’t you have survived? Why couldn’t that have been our story?

I love you so very much. That never changes.

Love,

Mama

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