Dear Alex, Holding on...

20^th September 2012

Dear Alex,

Home visit number 4 is coming up tomorrow! I have things to prepare, food to cook you, ramps to put in place. I will be collecting you from the centre at 10am, and I cannot wait...

There sleeps Esmie, in the bed I have made on the floor in my room, Monty’s turn in my bed, the room only just fits the little bed on the floor, or they’d all be in here! They are needing a lot of comforting at the moment. Which means I need to step up my ‘manning up’ skills. Put on the back burner my feelings, be bigger than I feel I ever can be to make sure they're alright, that they are heard, they can safely let their feeling and the tears roll.

Monty sobbing and declaring it has nearly been a year, that living for a whole year without you was unfair. The heaving 8-year-old boy shoulders, which carry so much, puncture my soul. Mitzi just ‘wants her daddy back’, Lola quietly clings to me, Esmie cries at times for her dad. I think we are all struggling at the moment. This year has seen you overnight going from ‘daddy invincible’ to you as we all knew you, vanishing. I talk often about how your heart, your love and feelings are no different, nothing can change the stamps on our hearts and souls. Although this is of little comfort at the moment. I think they all need to see you back to the way you were, and nothing changes that.

Monty (almost as big as me, which to be fair doesn’t take much!) sits cuddling into me on my lap and I try hard to console him, trying hard not feel the helpless guilt of not being able to take away their pain. As parents seeing our children suffer is one of the worst kinds of pain, especially when there’s not a great deal we can do about it.

I fight hard, baby, I really do, to not give in to feeling helpless, I try and shove myself out of those places-others have been so wonderful in offering help and comfort too, you wouldn’t believe it…

Nothing, nothing will ever replace the man you were, the father you were, I can only keep walking, keep tending to the kids’ tears. Be strong when you need me to be, and man, this has not broken me yet, and it most certainly won’t, honey!

I find myself writing again, tapping the keyboard the minute I have a moment, in vain attempts to write out my pain.

I see the hope, I will never lose sight of that, no matter how hard I might have to squint to recognise it. I close my eyes and picture you, I am able occasionally, and very briefly, to do this now, as I am scared I will lose those memories. Scared of losing you as you were altogether, erased from my mind. Never will it be erased from my heart, my soul, but as I haven’t been able to face picturing you before, I now worry the memories will leave me too…

Holding on to memories of you. I know this will never be again, but I will never give up the hope you will make it somewhere near.

The kids now sleep peacefully (who knows for how long?!) and I am now putting this to one side and I am going to look forward to tomorrow… there’s enough time for feeling sad, for tears to stream, so I need to concentrate on the happy things, the good things, and feel that too, when they are there…

I cannot wait to see you in the morning, I’m off to make your lunch now and prepare feeling grateful for the fact I do get to do that, there are situations so much worse…

I love you,

Me xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx