It's been a year since you slipped silently out of my body and into the cold world. Into my arms for such a short time. I wish you could have stayed with us, but you had to leave for reasons unknown. I can't believe it's been a year since I found out I had a son. A year since I saw your face for the first time and fell so deeply in love - a depth I never knew possible. I love you so much... So very very much...
Sigh... I haven't really planned what to say in this post, so please forgive me for being a bit all over the place. I just need something here marking his birthday. I'm sure I'll be back later to document what we actually did...
Here, have a poem I found a couple of days ago (I've linked the blog I found it on in the title):
"Forever A Baby"
Another year, still so small,
Growing older, yet not at all.
My mind strains to think,
Remembering toes so pink.
Though our time full of stress,
You my dear shall never depress.
Your days were so short,
Yet so long for your sort.
Always my precious son be,
Never grown up, forever a baby.
I just... I wish I had a little toddler here with me, smooshing his birthday cake all over himself. Instead I have a patch of dirt to go visit. Not even a headstone to look at. Just some toys whose colours have faded from a year of sun and rain, and some dirt. It's just not fair. I'm lucky enough to have another baby growing inside me who I'll meet soon, and I appreciate that so much... but it doesn't stop the pain. Crying at certain songs, or lines in TV shows... Torturing myself by watching videos dedicated to other stillborn babies (yep, doing that right now...) and listening to sad music. It just doesn't stop. One year on, and it still hurts. Some days are harder than others, but it hurts.
Why him? Why my son? It still doesn't feel real sometimes, you know. I look at his photos and feel disconnected. "That's not my baby. My baby's safe." No. He is my son. I love him from the split ends in my hair to the overly long toenails on my feet (I can't reach down to cut them!) and all the way back up again.
His hat still smells like him. Not the little white hat he was buried in, of course, the big blue and white one we had on him to begin with. It was a premmie hat, and it was still too big.
Happy birthday, Ianto. I love you, and so does Daddy. You've touched so many lives from me telling your story to anyone who'll listen. I miss you so much. Have fun, wherever you are. Whether that's heaven, some other kind of afterlife, or just in my heart and memories... Have fun for your birthday.