A chronicle of our journey after losing our firstborn

A lovely comment today prompted me to look through Cameron’s photo album.

Gosh, he was a beautiful little boy.

Tears flowed down, as grief poured out.

How I miss him. And yearn for him. Wanting simply to hold his beautiful little hand in mine once more.

We love you, Cameron.

Always. Forever.

It is that time of the year again.

This entire week, I have been re-living that last week of Cameron’s life. A memory here. A memory there. Enveloping me when I least expect it.

Tears. They have come. And they have gone. And they have come again.

I have stayed at home all week. Looking after the boys. Resting whenever I can. Soaking in the boys at every opportunity.

It does not escape me how blessed I am. To have these three gorgeous boys in my life. They are such a blessing. Such a blessing.

They have seen their mummy cry this week, and they have all been so sweet. Even little Jamie who is only one and a half knows how to smile his precious smile to help ease mummy’s pain. Pete, in particular, has been so caring – putting his forehead on mine whenever he sees me in tears. “Mummy sad?” he would ask me. “Yes, mummy sad.”

This week I’ve realised that a mother’s guilt never goes away. Even five years on, I still fear that I caused Cameron’s death. That had I been less pre-occupied that week with the design job I had on, he would’ve arrived earlier. And lived.

Those last five days of Cameron’s life haunt me. Monday was his due date. Tuesday we went to see our doctor. Wednesday and Thursday I was still working on the client’s magazine. Friday night we went out to a friend’s farewell…

Saturday, he died.

It haunts me that no matter how many times that week replays itself in my head, I cannot change the outcome.

All I have are my ‘if onlys’.

If only we’d induced him that Tuesday.

If only I hadn’t been working up till that week.

If only I’d slowed down.

If only I’d paid more attention to his movements that Friday.

If only we hadn’t gone out that night.

If only we’d booked an earlier induction date than the following Monday.

If only.

If only.

I have been so short on words this week. Too tired to actually verbalise what I am feeling inside.

But it comes down to this: Cameron is gone. And it hurts.

I love him. I miss him. And it hurts.

I wish he hadn’t died. I wish he were alive.

It hurts.

Dear little man,

I’ve been thinking about you. Missing you. And shedding tears over you.

Yesterday we all went to the beach. It was our day off. The sun was out and the sky was blue. Your brothers had such fun in the water. I was looking at your dad knee-deep in the water, with Jamie in his arms and Angus and Pete splashing around him, and I felt this sudden stab of pain knowing that you weren’t there in the water with them.

“I wish Cameron were here,” I said out loud. From the look on his face, I knew that your dad understood exactly how I felt.

I missed you deeply in that very moment.

Tomorrow we are celebrating Jamie’s 1st birthday along with his baptism. I’m up late making all the final decorations and party favours. I’m listening to the piano music on the Studio Glibi soundtrack that we purchased after you died and before Angus was born.

The music reminds me strongly of you. Of that summer without you. Of that autumn without you. And of the winter that was also without you.

I shall never forget the grief of those seasons that followed your death – the heartache and the tears of those early months are etched deeply inside me.

It’s hard to believe that it’s four and a half years since you’ve been gone. If you had not died, you would be turning five this year, and that sixth seat at our family table would not be empty. Our family would be together. And complete.

Missing you tonight, Cam. Missing you so much.

Love,
Mum xo

…but wishing there were three walking around.

Thinking of our friends from college who lost their four month old baby boy this week. Praying that God might sustain their every step as they walk through that dark and lonely valley.