My beautiful boy. A year ago today was your due date. Your dad and I were so happy - with both of us off work and me still feeling mobile enough for us to get out and do things. We stopped in town for a coffee, and the woman who served us was pregnant too. She was so excited when I told her it was my due date, making jokes about preparing towels and hot water. You moved about so much that day - you were so wriggly and made your dad and I laugh with the weird shapes you made in my tummy. I knew you weren't on your way just yet, I'd had no contractions, though you were headed in the right direction.
When we first lost you, I couldn't think back to that time without bitterness, without thinking how stupid I was to have thought we were going to keep you. I found it impossible to remember those days and feel happy. I'm so sorry for that. Now, I think back to this time last year and yes, I am sad. The day is tinged with grief, because I'm looking at it through death-tinted glasses. But I also remember, quite clearly, how it was to feel you move. How excited we both were, how complete and happy I felt, how I was brimming over with love for you all of the time. I don't feel any of those emotions anymore, except the latter. I feel love for you, all of the time. I ache for you, I miss you, and I love you.
I really wish you'd arrived that day, or sometime in the following week, because chances are we'd still have you now if you had. But that isn't what happened, and to wish it makes me feel like I'm denying who you were, and what you mean to me. I have those perfect, wonderful memories from before 15th August, and I'm so grateful for the time you gave us. I've never experienced grief like it, but then I've never experienced love like it either. Thank you sweetheart, for everything. With love, always, mum xxx