Triggers

On my way to a fun xmas baking day, I reach over to grab some comfy pants and there they are. The pants that I wore to the hospital on my way to have my first baby. The baby who would finally fulfill my life long dream of becoming a mother. I have already tucked the shirt I wore away in my memory box. That shirt is sacred. But those pants.

I was so happy. So very happy. I don't even know if there is a word that can describe the joy I felt. I was finally going to meet my baby that I spent every second of the past 41 weeks and 4 days with. The little one who was going to make my life complete. Perfect.

And then he died.

He died.

My baby died.

And no one knows why.

So I stare at these comfy pants. So full of broken dreams. And I am right back in the moment. So happy. So excited.

And then he died.

And then part of me died. And a part of me dies again, every single day. Because these little triggers don't happen once and a while. They happen daily - sometimes multiple times. A song, a smell, a shirt, another happily oblivious pregnant mum. I often say with friends that it is an awful burden to bear. But that burden also keeps him alive.

He did make me a mum. He was my firstborn. He will always be my son. Just not how I wanted. Because he died.