Not doing great today. It’s been 8 months and 4 days. 247 days since we lost Emmet. Mostly I am okay now. I cope fairly well, but today I put aside as a rest day, and I got left alone with my thoughts a little too long perhaps. Also remembered why I stopped watching live tv and only watch Netflix, films and what I have recorded.
Today it was Aptimill formula for newborns. Another punch in the gut reminder that I thought I would have a newborn right now.
I miss Emmet so much. We have a family tradition coming up of going to this Folk Festival in Ely. I love it and it is super kid and baby friendly. I have always imagined taking my own kids there, and knowing I won’t ever get to watch Emmet dance to the Oyserband or paint Jan’s Van and get his face painted hurts really badly.
I kind of miss feeling angry all the time. It was a bit better than this feeling of empty arms.
I am going to write Emmets name on that van every day I am at that Festival.
I look a lot younger in that photograph. Also I have a lot less hair. I look back at last year, at the girl posing carefree in front of Jan’s van after eating too many Crepes and drinking too much Cola with her friends. She looks a million miles away from who I am now. This loss has aged me. This past year has been mad.
What will I say when I see my festival friends and they ask me how my year has been? To most of them, probbably nothing, many of them are younger than me, and I sort of mother hen them about everywhere, let them be young and carefree. Let them live life, let them have too much sugar and dance and sing until they are too tired to stand.
Let them be as free as I wish I could be again. In a world where babies didn’t die, where all that mattered is where the next chocolate Crepe was coming from, and if we would share a piza later that evening.