A new journey

Today we found out wotsit has leukaemia. He's been pale for a few weeks and tired. A few doctors appointments later, we're referred to the hospital for a blood test. Five hours later, three doctors enter the room and ask if I'd like to call anyone. That's when you know it's not good news.

Wotsit so far thinks it's one big adventure. Thinks it's brilliant we're having a sleepover in hospital. Tomorrow we'll find the best way to explain to a four year old that his white blood cells aren't working properly. And then we'll tell his brother.

I'm hoping this story will have a happy ending. I will not lose another child.

When I'm grown up I will forget you

Wotsit is now 4 and a half.  No less cheeky, no less gorgeous.

At bedtime tonight, I sang (Monkey's but now Wotsit's favourite goodnight song) Hush Little Baby.  And then,

Me: I love you
Wotsit: I love you too Mummy.  I'll always love you.  I'll always love you... until I forget you.
Me: You won't forget me darling.
Wotsit: I will.  When I'm grown up I will forget you.
Me: Sweetheart, you won't forget me, I haven't forgotten my Mummy and I'm grown up.
Wotsit (voice trembling):  But when I'm really really really old, I won't be able to remember you.
Me: Don't be sad my love, yes you will.
Wotsit: Not when I'm really really really really old.
Me:  But remember sweetheart, you can't forget me because I'll always be in your heart.
Wotsit:  I know but when you die Mummy I want to have a statue of you in the garden (if I have a garden) so I can always see you and never forget you.
Me: You could look at some pictures of Mummy.
Wotsit: I want a statue.
Me: Okay darling, I love you so much.
Wotsit: Night Mummy, I love you too. 

Well that's settled then Wotsit.  I hope you have an understanding wife... 

8th birthday reflections

Monkey would have been 8 today and I have not cried.  I think I've had less time to be self indulgent coupled with the fact that all of our photos are still in storage.  But I am sad.  Really really sad.  I think the tears are inevitable, they're just not forthcoming right now.

Having moved to a new area, it's been hard being surrounded by people who never knew Monkey and didn't know me in a Monkey world.  But there are some lovely people here and I have told a few people about my boy and two of them sent me a lovely message today.

It's been a year of change.  Change that would not have occurred without Monkey.  I no longer have a full time job, I pick my boys up from school every day, I help in their classes and I'm practically a fully qualified Homestart volunteer.  If it weren't for having Monkey and then losing him, I would not be where I am today.

Thank you beautiful boy.
x

And then I cried some more

So I'm training to be a homestart volunteer.  Inspired by monkey, I want to be able to make a difference to someone who might be in a similar situation to us a few years ago.  Homestart are a charity who match families with volunteers who help them in their home once a week.  The training is good; thought provoking.  At the first session we were asked to introduce oursleves to our neighbour.  I did and I told her about Monkey, Pickle & Wotsit.  When it was her turn to introduce me to the group, she didn't mention Monkey.  I completely understand why she may not have felt comfortable doing so but I now feel a little odd.  A bit like I'm denying he was ever here.

So this should be resolved next week.  The organiser has asked me to read a passage about how it feels to have a child with special needs.  There's a reading about planning to go to Venice but ending up in Holland.  I read it a few years ago when we had Monkey.  I thought it was good - it describes the sense of loss you might feel but also helps you to realise that Holland's not a bad place; just a different place.

I think I cried when I read it for the first time but after a while I thought yes, I like Holland, but I'd like to go to Venice too.  And that's when Pickle came along.

Anyway the point is, I've not read it for a while.  I think since before Alex died.  So I read it again.  Except I wasn't quite prepared for my reaction.  You see, I feel a bit like I've been banished from Holland, a place I once loved to be but now I don't belong there.  I can't go there.  Not in the same way.

Cue quite a lot of tears.  Good ones though, necessary ones.  Keeps me sane and helps me remember.

The good news?  From next week (whilst I may have cried in front of 14 women I barely know) I will at least no longer feel like I am denying Monkey.

Yesterday I cried

I'm driving the boys to the station to collect Daddy.  Wotsit has Alex bear with him (named after Alex the lion you understand). 

"Mummy, how old is Alex?"
"Alex bear?"
"No, Alex who would be our brother if he was alive."
"He'd be 7 sweetheart, nearly 8 - his birthday is just after Pickle's."
"That's not fair, he won't get any presents."
"Yes, he will" says Pickle "we can send him a balloon up in the sky."
"But how will it know which platform to stop at?"

Love you boys, all three of you.
x

Honoured

Unintentionally, I reached for one of my favourite tops this morning.  Comfy, slouchy GAP t-shirt.  I noticed a few holes in it (but wore it anyway).  It was only later today that I remembered I bought the top in my first shopping trip post Monkey dying.  It was noteworthy as shopping (like sex) was one of the frivolous activities that I couldn't bring myself to do for quite a while.  I made an exception for this top though as emblazoned across the front it said 'honoured'. And I felt honoured to have been Monkey's Mum.  And I still do. 

It's 5 years to the day since Monkey died. Ouch. Ouuuuch.  It's no wonder, the top has a few holes in it.

A little less like neglect

So.  A few weeks ago, I returned to the house we were selling (also known as the house where Monkey last was) to empty it.  We'd moved in a bit of a hurry (our house sale fell through, we weren't going to move then Pickle got into a good school so we decided to move anyway) and had been emptying the house in dribs and drabs.  I knew this was going to be the penultimate visit to the house (subject to everything going to plan!) and was a little apprehensive but I was focussed and okay.

Then the new purchasers popped over to measure up.  They're lovely.  We vaguely knew them before.  I knew that they had a duaghter who was stillborn and had empathised with them previously but hadn't mentioned Monkey - it was too raw at the time.  I was in the playroom with Liz (some of the playroom used to be Monkey's bedroom) and she pointed to where his bedroom was and said that was going to be her yoga room.  I really wanted to tell her about Monkey but couldn't speak.

Finally, we were all chatting in the kitchen and Liz mentioned that she's on a rota to mow the churchyard and I burst into tears (in a snorting kind of way) and had to leave the room.  She came after me (my husband didn't notice!!) and was lovely.  She knew about Monkey and had wanted to offer to place flowers on his plaque at appropriate times of the year if I wanted her to.  I don't need her to do that but occassionally wiping the grass away - that would be good.  To be honest just knowing there's somewhere there who knows his ashes (well some of them) are there is a good thing.  Feels a little less like neglect.  Thank you Liz.  And we have an open invite to pop in for tea if we are visiting.  It is nice to feel that I am not letting go completely.  Or at least that I don't have to if I don't want to.  Although the reality of going back in the future is a bit strange and I think that maybe there are only so many times I can say goodbye/cry.

We returned a couple of weeks later as Pickle wanted to say goodbye to the house properly and to go to the church.  I went with the boys to the churchyard and we left some beautiful orange gerberas.  I left a note which I read to the boys and Wotsit asked why I was talking strangely.  Pickle said he knew why and gave me a mammoth hug.

However much I tell myself that you are not there Monkey, it hurts.  It feels like a step away from you and I'm sorry.  If you'd been here, I'm pretty sure we wouldn't have left.  I don't think I could have changed your care again.  But you're not here and I know it's okay that we've moved.  Things are going well and your brothers still talk about you all the time.  Wotsit is so like you and so interested in you (and dying generally!).  In some ways you are most definitely still with us.  

I love you beautiful boy. I miss you x