|My stunningly beautiful boy.|
It's been 20 days since I lost my beautiful Hamish. He never leaves my mind. Not for a single second. I go over every contour of his face, I remember how his skin felt and imagine running my fingers through his gorgeous mop of hair. I imagine him beside me, running down the hall, yelling "Mum-may!" I used to kiss his sweet face at least 20 times a day. I miss it so much, my heart aches. Sometimes the pain is so bad, I'm not sure I can bear it a second longer. But I'm still here, clinging onto a life raft as the waves of grief crash over me.
At night, the anguish continues. I go over every detail of 'that' afternoon and think of everything I could have done to save my son's life. I blame myself for everything that went wrong. The "if onlys" are torturous. Unfortunately, my 9-year-old daughter is doing the same thing, just before bedtime which has forced us to seek the services of a child psychologist. The trauma replays in her head, just as it replays in mine, like a terrible horror movie you can't forget.
My children are all grieving in different ways. My 3-year-old son will approach me when I'm upset and say, "Mummy, you miss Hamish." Sometimes he'll add, "Don't worry mummy, he's with the doctors at the hospital and they'll make him better." Sometimes he'll say, "Hami has shut his eyes and they won't open again." Mostly he is lost. He is missing his best friend and isn't quite sure why people keep turning up on our doorstep with food. He asked me to put Dora the Explorer on the TV the other day. I asked him if he'd like me to sit with him but he motioned to the kitchen and replied, "No Mummy. You go and talk to all the people."
|My two cheeky monkeys|
My big 9-year-old girl is stoic, brave and probably very much trying to block it out. She was a little mummy to Hamish and played with him constantly. I relied on her to help me when I things got hairy at home. When dinner was cooking and I had Hamish hanging onto one leg and Master F on the other leg, she would switch on the music and encourage them to dance, or take them into the living room for a play and a cuddle. Although she isn't showing a great deal of emotion on the outside, I am certain she is nursing a badly broken heart.
But the fact remains - my beautiful boy is gone. And there is nothing anyone can do except be there when I return to the surface to gulp for air.