Your 4th birthday is in 7 days and I wonder who you’d be. Would you have your brothers sensitive nature? Would you have your sisters wildness? Would your eyes still seem to contain the depths of all space and time?
I haven’t written about you in a while. In the early days I felt like writing was the easiest way for me to process and work through the heaviness of griefs weight. These days I feel like most of it I’ve already said in 1,000 different ways so most days writing doesn’t seem as therapeutic now.
In a way I think I’ve wanted to protect my heart, but I also know I sometimes feel as if I’ve run out of words. Will I ever? At what point will I just be echoing my past self? How many ways can one person explain pain? How many synonyms are there for death and the wake that it leaves? How many depictions of the effects of my trauma, is too many?
It’s like I’m just trying to find ways to make sure people aren’t forgetting you, and always feeling like the passage of time leaves my attempts futile. Parenting my grief over you will never feel like an appropriate replacement for parenting you.