Robert's headstone was installed this weekend, so we went to see it for the first time. Such mixed emotions. I love it, I hate it. It's so much nicer for him, it's terrible. I'm proud, I'm crushed. I want to show it to the world, I want to smash it to pieces.
Our family name. Our son's name. In stone. On a headstone. It's no longer a forever bed, it's a grave. A hole in the ground with my baby boy's body in it. I want to scream at the injustice of this moment, this situation, this life.
I take some small comfort in knowing he likes it. We did our best, we put everything into it we could to make it his and his alone. Travelling down to see it, he thanked us with a rainbow, followed by beautiful sunbeams streaming through the clouds-his latest trick. His latest trick should be blowing raspberries!
It has been a long time coming. It took us three months to build up the courage to look in those awful catalogues, and another month to find the "perfect" choice. Then it took four months to complete as it is a bespoke design. I thought having it in place would be a relief, it isn't. It's a symbol of how much we love him, how important his tiny life was....a symbol that his life "was", not "is"
And still, I am trying to comprehend the enormity of it all. How can my baby not be here?