Four Years

When I was One,
I had just begun.
When I was Two,
I was nearly new.
When I was Three
I was hardly me.
When I was Four,
I was not much more.

~A.A.Milne

 

Darling Joe,

 

I typed up the whole of this poem today, about your sister Sofie, who is of course six now, and is being every bit as wonderful as we can expect from that. I can't type all of it up for you, and even if I could, it doesn't quite fit because you are so much more Joe, so much more.

 

I'm sorry I didn't write last year. I don't know why. I can't think what else I was doing, although you know we brought you balloons as usual, as we will tomorrow. I do hope one reaches you my darling boy, if I can hope anything.

 

I'm sat here tonight, in the chair that I sat in then, 4 years of Thursdays ago, when I had that blurred vision, and didn't do anything about it. The next morning I discovered you'd gone. I wonder if I will ever be able to remember you without remembering those times and searching within myself for whatever I could have done differently, even though it doesn't matter what I could have done differently because I didn't, and you still aren't here.

 

I'm really affected by this being a Thursday, on the eve of your birthday, as I'm taken straight back, but then as I was driving Sofie from school this evening I realised that this isn't the same day - that Thursday was the 16th, and this is the 18th, so 4 years ago we already knew you were gone, I was in hospital unwell, and you were still safe inside me. So why am I feeling this strongly about a Thursday? I don't know, but I am. And tomorrow is your cousin's birthday too, as it is every year, and I'm going to go and see her and wish her well but I honestly don't know if I can sing Happy Birthday to a person who isn't you on your day. I don't think I can.

 

You have another brother. Or a sister. I have a bump. We're not quite sure how this happened but this is where we are. I've had to ask my manager not to talk to me about my pregnancy because I can't do it, this pregnancy could end at any time. For some reason I feel this more than I did with Milo (who is fine, and three, and every bit as wonderful as you can expect from three which means he's pretty exasperating most of the time). It's all a bit difficult.

 

We'll be there to see you tomorrow. We need to go to Sofie's sports day first, then we'll come and see you, just mummy and daddy as usual. At least we can expect blue skies; the weather is summery right now, when I think it's rained almost every other birthday you've had, darling boy.

 

I'm so very sad tonight.

 

I'm not sure we'd have been the parents you deserve, darling Joe. We shout too much and stress too much and my fuse is shorter than short right now. But I would so have liked to try to be your mummy properly.

 

You're in my thoughts every day you know. I wish you were in my arms too.

 

See you tomorrow,

 

Mummy xx