February is here.
February is a very significant month: it holds one of the two most difficult anniversaries of all: Hugo’s first birthday.
The other one is an anniversary a few weeks later, the day Hugo died at the end of March.
February is a month on the calendar, but I cannot but help think what I was doing this time last year.
A growing bump, 22/23 weeks pregnant.
An active little boy kicking away in my tummy. Martin eager for the time when our baby was big enough for him to feel the kicks through my bump, too.
Looking forward to meeting our baby in a couple of months’ time.
Decorating the nursery. I had chosen a jungle theme, and knew what I was going to buy and do. The nursery was going to be full of brightly-coloured animals.
Wearing maternity clothes every day. I had some beautiful dresses and outfits. I was fortunate that I really started to show after Christmas, and was able to take advantage of the new year sales. I got clothes that would see me through to spring and summer, during the last weeks of my pregnancy and the first weeks with my new baby (many of those clothes remain unworn).
The blog I had started in 2013 but neglected for the past few months would be written again. I would write about my pregnancy, my pregnancy style, nursery plans, plans for my baby….
February is the month where it all went wrong.
I am told that the first anniversaries are the worst.
While the passing the ‘firsts’ may seem a relief, I am dreading them.
The time after March 27, the anniversary of Hugo’s death feels to me like it will be entering a new time zone.
Another cycle of the calendar. A cycle where Hugo does not exist. Yes, he exists in our hearts and minds, but not in my arms, which is where I want it most.
If I was offered the chance I would go back to last February, do it all again to spend time with Hugo. That involves conveniently forgetting the pain, much like they say how mother forgets the pain of childbirth when it is over.
Even better than that would be like in a science fiction plot, where the protagonist has the opportunity to go back in time and change things. Let’s have a happy ending this time. Or: the ability to go forward in time, to a time where there is a vaccination against preeclampsia and HELLP syndrome, or a cure that does not involve the baby having to be born.
The key word in the paragraph above is ‘fiction’, I know none of this is possible.
That does not stop me dreaming about it, though.
Last February began with me excited, full of hope, things to look forward to.
This one: sad, resentful, angry, wondering what the future will hold.