I am very restless today. I got up late, started to tidy up, made to wash the dishes, then stopped that and put a film on. Half watching that, kettle on and started the ironing. Gave up halfway through...I've read two pages of my book...began to think...began to cry...and now I need to write.
I've been trying to keep my mind occupied, that's all it is....but failing miserably. It's the 22nd December, shouldn't mean anything this year. Last year, it was a major milestone, Bertie's due date. I told myself that in future years, it wouldn't be a big deal.....it isn't his birthday, very few babies come on their due date...it means nothing from 2012 onwards. Only now it is here...it does. I can't help but think about what it should have been like now. If things had turned out right, how they were supposed to, we'd be having a first birthday this week, as well as a second christmas. It would be a huge family celebration, and he'd be the centre of attention.
Instead, I have to wear the mask and try to make it through whilst everyone around me celebrates and his name is barely mentioned, if at all in some cases.
I think for me, it is harder to accept, and ignore this date because there was no reason for him to be born so early, and there was nothing wrong with him. If he'd gone to term, if I'd held on to him for 13 more weeks...he'd be here now, a healthy happy one year old, just learning to walk and playing with tinsel and wrapping paper and cardboard boxes.
It's brought back my guilt. My husband is missing his son, my parents their grandchild, my sister her nephew.....because I failed him. And my punishment will last a lifetime. Every Christmas, forever, this feeling is going to be back, and I don't know how much more my shattered heart can take.
I've done the first Christmas, and in so many ways this year is harder...there is less acceptance of my grief, less allowances for me to not be fully involved....."come on, it's been a year, you have to live..."...Don't you understand? My grief will never be over, because my love will never be over. And Christmas, without my son, will always be so very hard.