22 letters to you. Letter two. Dear Réalta.

22.03.2018

Dear Réa,

Yesterday I wrote your name in the snow along side Emmets. I couldn’t take a good photograph and that was a shame, but it seemed fitting, that it was beautiful and impermanent.

I am putting together a bag full of items to donate. I want to make lots of little quilted hearts, some to go in the bereavement packs for the children, and some to hide around town for people to find. I have found a lot of peace in choosing the Teddy bears and other donations. One is a stuffed giraffe I would have loved to buy you as a first Teddy, and I hope it makes someone’s child’s time easier.

The memory blanket is going well. I am enjoying quilting with larger squares as opposed to the tiny hexagons of my first ever quilting projects. I need to find more blue and yellow material for you, and another shade of green for Emmet. I am going to embroider or appliqué stars and balloons when it’s all stitched up before I finish it. I think this should occupy me for a while which is good. I want to complete it before I marry your Daddy, so I have plenty of time to work on it as we’re quite happy taking our time with that.

I am trying to prepare myself for the 22nd, I don’t want it to be sad, I try to remember you happily and be grateful that I got the chance, however brief to be your mother; but sometimes the sadness takes over.

Yesterday and today have not been easy, I am missing you so very much. My little star, you are so bright to me and forever out of my reach. I wish that I could fly to you, but instead I try to be useful, and not let your little life have been for nothing.

I want kindness to be your legacy, and I hope I can give you that at least. I tried to hide from you, and hide from from loving you because I thought it would make it easier. It didn’t, and it fills me with regret that I wasn’t better at being with you when I had the chance.

I catch myself thinking and worrying I am either not feeling enough or feeling too much. I feel guilty when I don’t feel very much at all because I worry I will slip back down the dark hole, and when I feel too much it is like the little voice of disassociation tells me that you were bearly there, why am I making a fuss. Wouldn’t it be better to forget?

I promise you that I won’t forget you. You are both so precious to me.

Love always,

Mummy x

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