A letter written to our darling Teddy, the day after his funeral service. Wednesday 15th June 2016.
Yesterday was as heart breaking as I had been expecting. I feel numb. These past four weeks have moved in slow motion as we have built up to saying our final goodbye. The vicar was so lovely; he said so many things that made so much sense to me. “Grief does not last forever, but love does.” I think those words will stay with me forever; and I certainly hope that this feeling does not. I know that our love for you will, all of our love.
Aunty Zoe read so beautifully, I really don’t know how she did it. I could barely say “Amen” at the end of each prayer. Every word she said made me think of you in so much detail all over again. Your rosebud lips, your little soft shoulders and that perfect crease at the back of your neck. I longed just to kiss that little neck just one more time; instead I sat motionless, just staring at the tiny white box you lay inside; my heart was breaking all over again. Daddy has printed out the reading and made it look so beautiful, just like you. I am going to put it into your memory box along with all of your other things when I get around to making your box for you.
Your flowers were simply stunning, I knew they would be. We chose baby blue hydrangeas and babies breath in a perfect wreath for you. I knew Jodie would do a spectacular job, as she had done with our wedding flowers. I want these little things to link us Ted; she did our flowers on our big day, and your flowers on your day. They carried you in to “How long will I love you?” When they carried you out again I suddenly realised that was the last time we would ever be as physically close to one another, in the same room; it tore me apart. I was straining my neck and desperately trying to look past Grandad so that I could watch you until the very last second. Then you were gone; again.
Daddy was incredible, as always. He held my hand so tightly and we hugged so hard when you left; I didn’t want him to ever have to let me go. We both lit candles for you in the church; I hope you got them darling. We love you so very much.
We have decided that we will get your initials engraved inside our wedding rings, I love that idea. I feel like you will always be with us then, in whatever we do. It was Daddy’s idea. So many people are doing lovely things in your memory, I really hope that continues. I want everyone to know your name; that you lived and that you were mine. I want them to know that I am a Mummy, your Mummy. I don’t feel much like one at the moment, I just feel empty and purposeless. When we were at Granny and Granpa’s last weekend, I heard your cousin calling “Mummy” to Aunty Zoe. I cried because I will never hear you call me Mummy. Just know that I am though, and that I will always think of you, no matter what happens to us from now on, or how our lives may change. Always.
Daddy and I didn’t really know what to do with ourselves today. I look out of the window and life goes on; people are on their way to work. I know ours need to go on too; but I just don’t quite know how at the moment? We took Boris on a walk earlier, and all I can feel is something missing. I should be walking beside Daddy with you in your pram; instead it’s just us two, and Boris. Any little task I seem to do feels pointless. I find myself stopping at times in the day and just thinking “What is the point? Why am I doing this?” I seem to be just walking around each day and pretending to get on with life; when really I should be with you. I am only doing it because I have to my darling, no other reason. I think if I were left to my own devices I would have probably shut out the world and locked myself up in the house by now. I can’t do that though, can I?
Everyone is doing what they can; visiting when they can and when we are up to it. I feel as though I have talked about you and cried for you non-stop; I am so tired now. I don’t know what else there is left to say to people? We really need to start thinking about what to do with your room. Tomorrow you should be one month old, it will be the 16th June. We have kept the door closed for now, I felt too scared to even go near that room. It makes me cry knowing that you’ll never see it. Knowing that you will never lie in that cot and stare up at that mobile that I made you just six weeks ago. We had every little detail prepared for you; it still is. Your hospital bag is still packed too, I can’t bear to unpack it. Everything is there, with the exception of the clothes we dressed you in the day you were born, and the ones we put on you the day that you left us. I know that I need to unpack it; I’ll get everything washed again and put it away. We will need to put your pram, car seat and Moses basket away too. There are just all of these things that you’ll never see or use; they were all picked out for you, pink or blue, with so much hope for you my darling.
The midwife is coming to the house tomorrow to discharge me and take my notes away. That will be the last part of my pregnancy over with; the very last part of our time together. All we will wait for now are the reports of what went so wrong for you Teddy. What, perhaps, could have been done to prevent this, to protect you from this? None of it will bring you back to us though, will it? Daddy and I know that, and we will just have to learn to live with that. I just hope in my heart, that whatever they do or don’t find, and whatever conclusion they may come to, that it just allows us to gain some peace. Not so much for us, but for you my sweetheart; I want you to sleep peacefully. I love you so very much and you deserve peace at the very least after all of this.
All my love, always,