Ruairí, today, April 12th, you would be nine.
On days like this, the aching for you hangs heavy, weighted with the now quiet, familiar, disbelief that you have died, and won’t ever again be here. Grieving you is not just aching for what was, it’s aching for what will never be too. The absence of you isn’t empty, it’s full with memories and imagined futures.
I remember one year old you.
Your big blue eyes that seemed to hold so much wisdom. Your wavy blonde curls that stood tall on top of your head and often swirled into one giant curl. Your soft pale skin. Your shouts with that sweet husky little voice of yours when you wanted attention. The way you giggled when me, your Dad or your big brother gave you big smoochy kisses. I wish I could climb back inside my memory and find my way back to you, sometimes it feels like I almost can, precious moments my mind summons back into existence.
I imagine nine year old you.
What would you like?
Your Dad and I sat with our coffees this morning and imagined nerf gun wars, trampolines, Lego, Star Wars, white chocolate cakes and chicken and cheese sandwiches: all the things your big brother liked when he was nine. Would you like them too? Your big brother wonders if you’d like rugby or playing the piano.
What would you be like?
I imagine a boisterous nine year old, or maybe you’d have been a quiet boy, but I don’t think so. I see a boisterous you because your personality was full of fire before you got really sick.
The cruel reality of course is that we can’t know any of these things.
We can only imagine.
So imagine we do, our sweet beautiful and oh so fierce boy.
Every day, I love you and I miss you, deeply, endlessly. I carry you forward with me, as I try to be the best person I can be with this one life I have.
Rumi says “Turning toward what you love deeply saves you”. In continuing to love you, to keep you present in my life, I’ve found not just an anchor in you, but a deeper grounding in my own life.
Your heart inside mine, always 💞
