I Wish

I wish you were in my tummy for the full 40 weeks.

Or if not, that you could have come home with Daddy and me.

I wish we had thousands of photos of you tracking every day of your life, every milestone, every special moment.

I wish I was able to watch you grow.

I wish we were able to watch that feisty personality grow, develop, form you from baby to little boy.

I wish I were able to sing you to sleep.

I wish I were able to give you a bath, watch you play with your toys and you insist on having a bubble bath punk hairdo.

I wish we were able to have cuddles, so many cuddles, breathing in your smell.

I wish my house was full of your things, clothes, nappies, wipes everywhere. Toys strewn across the house.

I wish I had more than my handbag to think about when I leave the house.

I wish I could see which new food you wanted to try next. Which you spat put.  How much you just chucked on the floor.

I wish I could see how you got on with Fat Cat.

I wish I could take you to the park.

I wish I could read books with you.

I wish I could be running around after you, and celebrate you taking your first steps.

I wish I needed eyes in the back of my head as you took every opportunity to show off your walking.

I wish I could try to have to figure out what your babbling meant, marvelling at you trying to form words.

I wish I could splash in puddles with you.

I wish I could comfort you when you needed that.

I wish I could see the look on your face when you saw something that excited you.

I wish I could see what most interests you.

I wish you, me and Daddy could be a normal family.

I wish I could feel your arms around my neck, your head on my chest.

I wish I could stroke your beautiful dark hair.

I wish we didn’t have to visit you in the cemetery.

I wish I didn’t have to think when buying you a present whether it will withstand the elements outside.

I wish you didn’t have to be born so early.

I wish there had been a magic cure to save you.

I wish I could cuddle and tickle you and hear you giggle.

I wish I could see you and Daddy playing together, forging a special bond.

I wish life was not so unfair.

I wish I did not have to talk about you in the past tense.

I wish I did not have to put up protective barriers around myself, because since you died I have been broken.

I wish I did not have this leaden weight in my chest.

I wish I did not have this darkness in my mind.

I wish I did not have to see symbolic signs of you everywhere, because real, tangible signs exist of your real, living presence.

I wish I did not know such pain, such sorrow, such longing.

I wish I knew such burning love, a Mother’s love that I could express to a child in my arms.

I wish I could cover you in kisses.

I wish I did not have to wonder what you would be like in the future.

I wish I did not have to miss you, Hugo.

I wish.

An Emotional Week

It’s been an emotional week. Positive emotions, as well as sad ones.

Last week Martin and I travelled down to Devon and Cornwall to meet family, and friends we’d met on Twitter. Thankfully, none of the latter turned out to be axe murderers.

We had a lovely couple of days with my Mum. During that time, we also met up with two Twitter friends and their dogs on Westward Ho beach. It was blinking freezing, but good fun and wonderful to meet the two lovely ladies and their dogs in person.

Martin is a pet photographer, and got some fabulous photos of the dogs.

The next stop was Mullion, a small village on the Lizard Peninsula for the opening of our Twitter friend’s second-hand bookshop, Churchtown Books. We had met on our previous visit to Cornwall last autumn.  A number of other Twitter friends attended for the opening too. This group of Twitter buddies is amazing: we have a diverse range of backgrounds, ages, and we live in different areas of the country. We have got to know each other through a shared love of dogs (English Springer Spaniels in particular). All hail the magic of social media!

The shop opening went really well, attended by guests of both the two- and four-legged variety. Being a bookworm, I bought a stash of paperbacks, as well as a special antique copy of Jane Eyre.

The bookshop opening: instead of cutting a ribbon, the dogs bit through a row of sausages.

Me and Harry the spaniel.

We stayed in a room in the local pub, which dates from the sixteenth century. We had a gorgeous huge room with lovely views, but being a pub it was inevitably rather noisy on the Friday and Saturday nights.

View from our room in Mullion

Martin and I were keen to try and see a sunset over the sea. Our friend was kind enough to take us out and shiver with us while we waited. The cold was worth it: the sunset was absolutely spectacular.

The clouds above the setting sun were alive with pinks and reds, at some points looking though they were on fire. Rays peeked through the clouds. As the sun sank further, it became a glorious orange colour and seemed like molten lava melting in to the sea.

Our friend says he has seen many sunsets during his time in Cornwall, but none quite like that one. Martin and I like to think of Hugo playing beyond the clouds, up among the stars. For that reason, such a beautiful sunset made us both feel emotional with the thought that Hugo had helped put on such a show especially for his Mummy and Daddy who were watching.

Mullion Harbour

Martin and I in Mullion.

After a lovely few days spending time with wonderful people, Martin and I had a couple of quiet days to ourselves. We left Mullion and travelled to Looe.

The view from our room in Looe.

The B&B Martin had found, Schooner Point, was beautiful and the best I have stayed in. We had a huge room with such a pretty view of the river estuary. A bonus was the room was decorated in purple! Nothing was too much trouble for the hosts, who served us tea and cake on arrival. The room was equipped with lovely little touches like slippers, robes, and chocolates. They also served the best breakfasts – while Martin had the full English, I thoroughly enjoyed the banana stack – a delicious pancake and fruit concoction.

The delicious banana stack.

Our arrival in Looe coincided with Mother’s Day. Exploring the town, we discovered the beach which of course was full of families celebrating the day. They all looked so bloody happy and content doing just normal, simple family activities at the seaside. It all felt too much, and I had a cry. Writing about it helped a little, releasing those emotions is good therapy. The messages I received from so many people on social media and by text were also a comfort – remembering that I am a mother still, even though Hugo is not in my arms. A couple of the messages, saying they hope I remember how much Hugo loved me made me especially emotional. While I understand what happened is not my fault, Mummy guilt is still present, so being reassured that Hugo did love me means so much.

A view from the cliffwalk from Looe to Polperro.

The next day Martin and I went on an epic cliffside walk to Polperro. The distance is about 5 1/2 miles, but as it was up and down steep paths was hard work! It is a beautiful path, though, and completely worth the effort. Polperro is stunning. Looe is pretty, but a bit too touristy for my taste, whereas Polperro is more organic with its harbour and quaint winding streets. Before we set off on our walk we thought we might walk back too, but we were so tired we got the bus.

Polperro

A sweaty and tired Leigh and Martin arrive at Polperro.

Polperro – the name of the boat, and yellow flowers inevitably reminded me of Hugo.

We faced the epic drive home the following day, broken by lunch with Martin’s dad and stepmum in Devon.

We are now facing the anniversary of the most emotional, joyful, and sorrowful week of our lives. The first anniversary of being told Hugo was unlikely to survive was on Thursday. I cannot help every day but think of what we were doing on this day last year. On this day last year, we were actually full of hope because the steroid treatment appeared to be working for Hugo; after only 36 hours, his pressures and oxygen needs had improved dramatically. Sadly, that improvement was not sustained and a year ago this coming Friday (March 27) Hugo died in my arms.

It’s awful, wrenching, devastating to think about the events of the last week of Hugo’s life, even a year on. Every day brings different emotions.