A letter to you 4 months after you left us – by Simone
Good morning my darling baby girl
Its 4 months today since you left us, and literally not a minute goes by that I don’t think of you. Every. Single. Minute. It still amazes me that something can consume my mind so completely, to the exclusion of almost everything else. I have become inordinately forgetful, ridiculously so. Sometimes I would forget things before but then when somebody said something to me, it would trigger the memory and then I would know exactly what they were talking about and have good recall. That’s certainly not the case now! Its almost like I am walking through a deep heavy fog and things are passing by me in the fog, surrounding me, but I am actually not seeing or experiencing them at all, and have no recall when people ask about them.
I am also the most tearful and emotional I have been and I think that the last month has been the hardest for me so far. With Christmas, holidays, not being as busy as I normally am when I am at work etc, its been so so hard. Sometimes excruciatingly so. When I think about you I tear up; when I try to talk about you, I can’t do so without crying. Yesterday and today so far have been particularly hard and I can’t stop the tears. I had a complete all-fall-down with your dad last night and just cried and cried and cried. So often the fact that you aren’t here anymore just seems completely surreal and almost impossible to believe. I know time is supposed to make this easier, but it certainly doesn’t feel like that right now.
The memory that keeps on playing over and over in my head at the moment is the one where you woke up to the babysitter. Do you remember that baby girl? It wasn’t long before you died, and we had gone out to dinner, leaving you and Murray with a babysitter. You would normally never, ever wake up, but that evening you happened to wake (happily of course) just before we got home. The babysitter came to the door with you in her arms, wrapped up snuggly in your sleeping bag. Your little face when you saw us at the door is etched in my memory forever. You gave us the most beaming, mischievous, beautiful smile, as if to say, “Gotcha, so this is what happens when I am sleeping!”. You then immediately came to me and reached out to touch my face and just smiled and smiled. I took you upstairs, put you back into your cot with a hug and kiss, and you went straight back to sleep like the angel you are. I think of your little face so so often and tears of happiness and sadness pour down my face. Happiness for what we had, and sadness for what we have lost.
It’s your birthday coming up soon, you would have been 1 years old, and we are trying to think of what to do to remember and celebrate you. It’s a really really tough one baby girl. So so hard. Your brother still asks about you all the time, and just gets so so so excited when he sees little babies. He is so sweet and gentle with them, and I see how much he misses you. The other night, Murray woke at about 2am and we were trying to get him back to sleep, and he out of nowhere just said, “Sissie gone, bye-bye Sissie”. He kisses your picture; points to my tattoo, says your name, and kisses it. He was walking up the stairs last night with Dad to have a bath and he said to dad in this sad little voice, “Is Sissie home yet?”. There are no words. We all miss you so so so much.
I leave you with words that were sent to us by Cherri along with your beach sunset
“In a baby castle, just beyond my eye,
My baby plays with angel toys, that money cannot buy.
Who am I to wish her back into this world of strife,
No, play on my baby, you have eternal life!
At night when all is silent, and sleep forsakes my eyes,
I hear her tiny footsteps, come running to my side.
Her little arms embrace me, so tender and so sweet,
I close my eyes and breathe a prayer and embrace her in my sleep.
For I have a treasure I rate above all other,
I have known true glory, For I am still her mother.”
True glory indeed my sweet little girl.
I love you always
This answers my fears. I can never ‘remind’ you of something that’s constantly with you. Praying this gaping wound heals up enough to help you feel ecstasy again. One day… If not in this world, in the next.