Bereavement, Grief
Comments 5

It is here…

I’ve run circles around it.

I’ve tried to ignore it.

I’ve tried to bury it under a pile of comedy shows, in packs of crisps and sweets I’ve been consuming in excess these past few weeks.

But oh, I know… I know it won’t go away unless I properly acknowledge it.


You see, this pain is not natural as natural has it.

It is not natural for a child to die before his parent so even now, four years on, my instinctive response is to push this pain away.

But I’ve learned that it will pounce on me then. Like a sneaky, vicious cat hiding in the shadows, it will come after me.

Unless…unless I go for it first.

Unless I drag it out of the shadows, expose it and my raw self to the light and say:

“I am broken.”

Four years ago, the most beautiful boy was born to me.

And oh, so many dreams with him.

But he was gone before any of those dreams took shape.

And from time to time, I have no choice than to sit down and let the pain break me.


He should be four tomorrow morning.

There should be candles and presents and cake and most importantly, a very excited little boy here.

Instead, there is a flood of sorrow. A wave of unanswered questions.

Instead of a four year old, I have four thousand thoughts I’ll never know the truth about.

Would you have been boisterous or quiet?

Adventurous or loving your mama’s skirts?

Would you have liked blue or green or both?

Would you have had a wicked sense of humour like your sister, a calm demenour like your Bicu or would you have liked a tidy home like your mama?

Would you still be into Peppa Pig or would you have liked a Paw Patrol birthday cake this year?

I have hated all those school reminders this year. I should have had a child to register this year but instead, I have a little blue box with a bit of ash in it. Because you were only tiny when you left.

I should have a proud daughter taking her brother into school in September but instead, we’ll do that walk just the two of us, as we always do.

I miss you, little dragonfly.

I hope where you are it’s always warm and sunny and there is only kindness and chocolate cake.

Happy fourth birthday, baby boy, I’d give the world to have you here with us but since I can’t, I’m sending you all my love and hope it reached you and warms your little heart.

Forgive my tears and sadness today. I’ll smile again tomorrow. For you. In your honour.

And I’ll live this life fiercely and fully, cause now I live for both of us.


This entry was posted in: Bereavement, Grief


Mum to one beautiful girl on earth and one sweet baby boy in heaven. Privileged carer. Encourager and friend.


  1. Oh Oana, the reminders are everywhere and it’s so hard to smile and be happy for others when you are just broken for yourself.
    I hope you eat cake and I hope the day is okay for you and Emma. I’ll be thinking of you all day. Love and strength to you, as always xxx

  2. Oanna mou, I feel for you more than you can imagine. Words are poor. Filia, Mimi

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