22 letters to you. A love letter to those who gave me the title ‘mother’ Letter 7.

Dear Réalta,

I feel as if I should write to Emmet too, but these are your letters, and I have written him hundreds of his own. I put aside these 22 letters. One for each day in March leading up to what should have been your due date. For a long time I didn’t know what that day was. I never let myself work it out, I knew roughly because I know exactly the only day in my cycle you could have been conceived, because I was on holiday without your Dad the other days in that cycle.

Instead it has been 233 days (I did Google that one) since it was confirmed I was loosing you. It’s been a long journey, and every day I hope you know, if you’re out there somewhere and I’m not writing this in vain, that you are loved.

Today I plucked up the courage and bought mothers day gifts for your gran, grandma’s and great gran and grandma. There’s suddenly a whole load of women in my life since I am marrying your daddy. Two future mothers in law, well technically one and a step Mother in Law, but gosh. It seems like I have ALL the women in my life sometimes!

I’ve made all the cards and bought the gifts I have to make and tomorrow I need to buy stamps and post the cards. I made 5 cards, I thought I would only manage my own mothers this year, but I did everyone’s and I’m pleased.

I am sort of feeling bad I won’t be with my family on Mother day. But I’m also grateful because it means that I can spend the day honouring the babies who have made me a mother, or just avoiding the day and hibernating under blankets refusing to move. I am not yet sure how that day will go.

My motherhood often feels fleeting and just outside my grasp, as if it will fade away like a mirage as soon as I try to touch it. In my heart I know I will always be your mother, and mother to Emmet, but when so few other people acknowledge that, it sometimes makes me worry ‘do I deserve the title?’

I feel as much your mother as I did when you were both with me, I can’t mother you in person so I protect your memory. I try to keep your little flames burning and let your light shine through what I do in your memory.

That sounds very poetic. In reality I still cry quite a lot, and when I am emotionally up to it I blog and put together campaigns and hospital packs. Most of the mothering I do is wallowing in the classic Mum guilt and wondering if I did enough to try to save you, to keep you. I worry perhaps I didn’t want you enough. Love you enough.

Certainly I don’t know how I could live anyone more. You hold the most sacred peart of my heart as your own. I pray that one day you will be joined by a sibling or siblings; but I pray that they do not follow your footsteps away from me.

Love always, to both of you, and especially Reá, as I said I would write to you.

Mummy x

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