As much as I wished everything could have been different I’ve always believed in fate, strangely even more so now. I feel like this is how it was meant to be for me. They say you are only given what you can handle, and I honestly think that’s rubbish, I wouldn’t say I’m a strong, capable person at all, but this is my weight to carry around now, and I think I’m okay with that. If it was between this hell and never having him exist at all, I’d easily take this. And I’m sure Cass would agree, I’m sure he’d choose the brief life he had.
– He was a tiny little bean just a couple of weeks when we went to Turkey & Greece
– He went to Paris and the beach
– He met both my cats when they stepped on my tummy
– He heard daddy singing, a lot
– He went to Bat out of Hell the musical
– We went swimming once, I’m sure he liked that
– He was bounced around whenever I’d have a giggle fit
– He was there for my 24th birthday, and mummy & daddys first wedding anniversary
It was the three of us for all these things.
Went to the pond they recently put in up the road, that we often imagined coming to with a pram.
There’s still no ducks Cass, we’ll let you know when there are 🦆
The thing about rainbows is that they don’t only come when the rain is gone.
Sometimes they’re there during the storm.
It hurts my heart a bit to see the clothes we bought for him. We bought a mix of sizes from newborn-6 months, and everything is fairly gender-neutral as we didn’t get to find out he was a boy until he died. The weekend just gone we had planned a day out to buy more baby clothes.
As we will be trying for another baby in the future we’ve decided to keep all his things. I know I’ll change my mind when the time comes, but it makes me feel uneasy to imagine another little person in Cass’ clothes and pram etc as they weren’t intended for anyone else, they’re his, he just never got to use them.
I’ll just have to think of them as hand-me-downs, a gift from their big brother.
“You have no idea how much you’ll love them until you see them” – it’s true. Even before you meet them you love them but its not the same. It’s not as overwhelming and all-consuming.
I wasn’t ready to be a mum, I was only 21 weeks, I thought I had 19 more to build up to it, but it turns out I was so ready to love him. I wasn’t ready but I became ready the moment he was there – ready to hold him, feed him, dress him, raise him.. all the things I now couldn’t do, would never do, yet ached to do. So I did all I could do instead. I stroked his tiny cheek, fussed with the blanket he was wrapped (swamped) in, read him stories, took as many pictures as possible, and planned all the ways we could keep his memory alive.
We took a walk today to the last place we went with Cass still in my tummy, on the Monday when everything was still normal, the day before our world came down. As I was walking, holding Davy’s hand, my other suddenly felt really empty, thinking that it would never be held by his tiny fingers on walks like this. Naturally I lasted about 0.5 seconds before the tears came. Just as I started crying a little white butterfly flew right up to us and danced around our legs for a second, as if to say ‘it’s okay, I’m with you’. Please never stop sending me little signs Cass.