They are learning of you through me. So few people got to meet you, Hugo. The 35 days of your life were spent in an incubator, in a hospital away from our home town.
I write so people know what a special boy you were, and are, Hugo. You might only have lived for only 35 days, but you have made an impact on the world. Your legacy lives on. People from all over the world know about you because I write about you.
I so wish it was not so. That no one knew about you, me, us. Just another anonymous new mum and baby. This mum being too tired looking after you to even think about writing.
I want the world to know about you, Hugo. That you lived, that you MATTERED. And continue to matter. About my love for you, Hugo, about my fierce, burning love for you. There is no love like a mother’s love.
Writing about you makes me cry. It makes other people cry, too. I talk about you to other people. They say how my face lights up when I talk about your antics. They can see how much I love you. It is because of this they know how strong you were, how much you fought, and liked to be naughty, even though you weighed less than a pound. They say they can see from the way I look at my feet and my voice goes quiet when I talk about the horrid parts how my heart is broken.
People say they think of you when they see stars, Hugo. They have become ‘Hugo stars’. I see visions of you everywhere, and so do other people. It makes my heart sing that others think of you, Hugo. It makes my heart sad. I am glad that people love you even though they didn’t get a chance to meet you, but I wish stars were just stars.
But these stars, the significance they have to me, to other people, these Hugo stars, they tell the world that you lived, that you mattered, that you continue to matter, that we love you, that we miss you, and that you live on through these twinkling, sparkling stars, my darling.