Mumma’s taking a back seat today.
From Charlie and Oliver’s Dad, on a hilltop.
“A moment shared
I had a little moment today, a couple of days away from when our boys were born this time last year. I wish I was writing that the moment was happy, but it wasn’t truly. That day was my most fearful, most confused day of my life. No excitement, no anticipation, no relief but still a grain of hope though; it’s amazing what human hope can survive – where there seems to be nothing sustainable for anything good it stills pushes through like life in dead earth, but it was the wrong hope.
A medical team, calm but rushing, Rebecca being moved and examined, hooked up to last minute meds as just a vector for the twins, she convulsed, passed out then woke up, scared, vomiting.
I don’t know what my first act as dad was meant to be, but in keeping my boys safe I felt I had failed, this was the feeling I was eventually left with and still live with, for both of them but Charlie most.
When Charlie died we found out that we could have casts of his hands and feet made. We took him home and we slept with him between us, I would wake through the night and nuzzle him or stroke him, he was cold but it gave me comfort. I’m grateful for this part of Charlie, but it’s strange to think now that the memory of Charlie I hold in my hands is a dental polymer, it’s such a confusing thought to try and reconcile – instead of holding and stroking his pink soft feet, we hang on to this.
In the past year I have cried a lot, wracking, heaving sobs for my boys and if it was practical I probably still would be. And so today, I had a moment. It struck me, not like a revelation but more a blow to my knees, that I wasn’t going to have a boy hang off each leg as I tried to walk around the house, that I was never going to get another moment for my first child, that our year with Oliver will have changed being a parent for me forever.
So on Sunday we will celebrate Our boys, we will miss Charlie, play with Oliver, cry for loss and get through the day.