It’s been a wee while since I have written to you. Probably since your birthday. I know I should have written sooner. But I have not forgotten you. I think of you daily. Usually it brings a smile on my face when I think of you. I wonder if you know how much I have loved you and love you?
Life got busy. I have been missing you – especially this weekend. I cried on Friday night when I was thinking of you. You are very much on my mind these days. If I could turn the clock back to that dreadful week in September four years ago and insisted that they take you out now rather than wait longer you would have been alive. I would be a mum of a four year old boy. I would not be sitting here staring at the dark night writing this to you.
As you know I started studying to become a counsellor and I have been working for a month now. It has been great to work again. Although it has been challenging at times. I enjoy having a routine and being able to go somewhere each day with a purpose. Even if this purpose is not the purpose I want it to be. I hope one day that I will have a meaningful job.
I always find it a challenge when Christmas approaches. I don’t know it is just like this heaviness appears out of nowhere and I am ready to embrace the next wave of grief. It is like perfect symmetrical clockwork. I always have this heaviness about me when Christmas comes. And I want to try and approach Christmas differently this year. But I don’t know how. Will you help mommy try and find a way to embrace Christmas this year with peace and joy rather than this deep sadness, this deep longing within me to hold you in my arms. Rather then this deep yearning for you to be here. I remember the first Christmas after you died. That was painful. I wasn’t bothered about it. I worked on Christmas eve. And I worked on boxing day. I stayed busy to avoid that ache inside of me. Except it was there. It’s been there ever since you died.
I see children and I hear parents talk about their children at work and I just long to talk about you and what you would have achieved. Whenever someone asks how you died – I say you died by stillbirth. But somehow to them it doesn’t seem like a big deal. Simply, because I never met you. But I did meet you. You were a part of me. There are children in my church named Sebastian. Last week I heard your name being spoken out-loud. How I wish I could whisper your name. How I wish I could say Sebastian Sebastian Sebastian…. But it is a name I rarely speak out loud. Will there be a time in my life where I will be a mom? Or were you my last child? I have many regrets of that awful time.
I often think of what it would be like if you were here, and what we would be doing. I guess I mention this every time I write a letter to you. I remember that first Christmas very clearly. I was fragile. Broken. Emotionally drained. Depressed. I wrote a letter that week to my older self – to remind myself of how far I have come. I wrote a letter for the first mother day which no-one ever remembers. I wrote a letter for me to read on your birthday, and for the following Christmas. I heard in my counselling training that that was actually a very good exercise as I was anticipating what I might be feeling on those hard days when everything is centred around the word family.
It’s supposed to be winter here. But it feels more like spring. With temperatures still being in double digits. It feels very strange. As I am so used to the cold winters. I am pining for home. But I am not going home this Christmas. Which is strange… I know I usually put some dry flowers by your urn each Christmas. So this year it will be strange.. because it’s back home. Plus usually my little sister can pick up my mood and she is extra gentle and compassionate with me.
I really wish that things could have been different my dearest Sebastian. I really wish that I could have been your mommy. I feel like I was robbed of that. I just want to say that I have loved you and I love you with all of my heart and I will always love you and your sisters and cousin David.
I love you dear precious child of mine.
Love you always,