I was going to write a post yesterday about boy3’s not first birthday. But it all feels a bit strange.
I’ve written before about some excellent advice from a friend:
There’s only one first time.
She’s very right. 17th June 2019 was the first time we lived through boy3’s birthday without him. It was meant to be his real birth day – C section day.
Then by 17th June 2020, so much had changed. I’ve kept moving along my grief road, there have been tough moments and other times where I’ve paused and realised that I am getting back to my old self. Then lockdown happened and my focus has changed to simply coping with the day to day chaos of us all being in the house all day every day.
I haven’t stopped processing and learning about grief. But yesterday just didn’t feel particularly different. The first anniversary of his birth really meant a lot to me, writing to him helped enormously.
As a family, we’ve talked about him over the last 10 days. Both boys declared they want another baby in the house, preferably a boy. They’ve been very understanding that it’s just not possible and I’ve explained a little bit about why.
I guess what I’m saying is that the pain of losing boy3 is still very much there, but it’s not as raw around the edges anymore.