My precious baby girl, it’s your mom here, writing to you again
Today marks that day 6 years ago that you left us. I still play that day and the days building up to it over and over in my head, so much of it so vivid in my mind. It still sometimes seems completely and absolutely surreal to me that you died, how the hell is that actually possible? How was I not able to do the one thing I needed to do as a mom – to keep you safe and alive? I failed you in the most fundamental way possible and I will be forever so so sorry for that.
My Belsie, you are still such a big part of our lives. Murray talks about you often, amazingly so. As he is growing up and processing different parts of your death he asks us different questions. Just this weekend he had a real meltdown about you dying. Dad was away and so he is always more sensitive when we aren’t together, but he is also trying to process it all still. He often asks me, “but I don’t understand, why did God take her away from us?” To which I have absolutely no answer for him, none whatsoever. But this weekend his comment was “I still love God, but I don’t like the things he has done to us, I don’t like the fact that he took Sissie and Thomas away from us.” (Thank you SEL skills Wetpups!).
As the years pass, and my own personal trauma around your death dulls somewhat, I realise the massive impact your death and the way it happened, has had on those close to us, especially my family. I realized it in myself for a long time, where every time my phone rang and it was either ADT, home or a family member my heart would start to race. I would answer the phone on high alert, listening to all background noises, trying to anticipate what was happening, a real physical response coursing through my entire body. Or when something would happen, my initial reaction was that the worst case scenario was going to play out. Suddenly death and dying was my go-to rather than the complete outlier. Because that had been my reality, not once, but twice. And I see that same trauma in my family members, all innocence is gone. And for that I am also so sad! I wish we could gain some of that innocence back, be lulled back into a form of security.
I am still so fearful of something happening to Murray. I have to pull myself back every single day, allowing him to grow up to just be him without this massive helicopter mom sheltering him from every possible situation. I also try so hard for my “stuff” not to impact on him as he grows up and becomes more and more aware of what is going on. My Belsie, I didn’t share with him what day today is, I don’t think it serves any purpose for him to know. I would rather we celebrate you with him on days like your birthday than pushing our deep sadness on him on days like today.
As I sit typing this, I am sitting with you and your darling brother Thomas at The Vineyard. It’s peaceful and quiet, the birds chirping, and the sun is shining on my back, warming it. I am listening to the recording we have of Richman singing Amazing Grace at your funeral, and today it brings me peace and calm.
The more the years pass the harder it becomes to imagine what you would look like, what you would be like, and that part is very very difficult to deal with. The memories faded, the certainty of knowing what you would be like now fades, and that breaks my heart. Today I have also been brave enough to watch the last video I ever took of you, not even 24 hours before you died, splashing so happily in the bath, laughing away at me being silly. I have not been able to watch that video at all since you died. You were so beautiful, amazing, happy, delightful – just perfect in every way. Our treasure sent to us for way too short, but we still revel in each moment we did get to have you in our lives.
My Belsie, every day I live in a way that I hope would make you proud. I don’t always get it right, in fact, I often don’t, but I will continue to do my best to honour you and Thomas and the lives neither of you got to live.
Forever your mom, now and always
I love you