If someone had asked me back then if I thought I could heal from losing you, I would have laughed in their face. I didn't believe you would actually go. I never accepted it as a possibility, not really. When we sprinkled your ashes over the South Downs, Bonnie half drunk and already on a path of self destruction despite her best efforts, I thought we would all crumble and die. The sheer cliff edge was perhaps a poor choice for a group as unstable as we were back then. I didn't see any way to move forward, any way to help your sisters, our son through the devastation of losing you. I wanted to die too. I wanted to be the one who got to leave if one of us had to. How cruel that I had to stay to pick up the pieces when all I could think of was joining you. I don't believe in Hell, at least not for the dead, but after that first year without you I know it exists for the living. I was there.
But you left me with something to ease the pain. You left me with a purpose, my salvation. Oscar. If it wasn't for him, I don't know how I would have survived losing you. But the thing about babies is, they don't care if you're grieving. They don't care if you can't face getting out of bed. They're in the moment, right here, right now. If something's funny, they laugh, even if it's not appropriate. If they're hungry, you need to get up and feed them. You just have to.
Oscar taught me a lot about grieving. He didn't hold back. His longing for you was unbearable those first few months. He cried constantly. He was angry and lost and it broke my heart because there was nothing I could do to fix it for him. He needed you. But then, I guess time healed his pain. I waited. I was there to hold him through both of our tears. And at some point, he began to smile again. He accepted his new world. He let you go. Eventually, I learned to do the same. Not because we stopped loving you, but because, in time, things became more bearable. We were busy. He was growing and changing day by day. You not being here became our normal. And though we talk of you often, and Oscar asks how you would have felt about his painting, his new toy, our trip to the beach and everything else, we've learned to keep going without you somehow.
The first time I realised I was happy, I felt overcome with guilt. How could I feel happiness ever again? How could I leave you behind and move on with my life? But as time has passed, we've smiled more. We've laughed. We have found a new reality and honestly, we're okay. I know you would want that for us. I know you would want us to be happy.
The wounds that were so raw and open when you left, have healed now. There are deep scars etched on all of us that will never be erased, but they don't hurt so much these days, unless I pull at the edges. I try not to do that too often.
I miss you Roxy. I miss us. I miss what could have been. What should have been. But I'm okay. Really. I'm grateful for the time we had, the memories we made, the son we created. I'm grateful for every minute we had together, even the bad ones, the hard times. It's all part of our story and I tell it to Oscar often. I know how scared you were at the thought of leaving us. I know you thought we would fall apart, and we did. But we put ourselves back together. I want you to know, life is good. We are happy. We'll be okay.
I have written to you so many times since you left, each time lighting a fire in the back garden, sending the words out into the universe as I hold them into the flames. I'm not ready to stop. I don't know if I'll ever be. But I don't feel the need to do it so often now. Oscar and I are going to the park in a minute. It's hot, the kind of day you loved best, and we're planning to buy ice creams. He'll have something with chocolate, just like you would have done. He loves hearing all the ways you and he are similar. He loves you so very much sweetheart, and he knows you love him too.
So now, I'll go. I won't say goodbye, you and I have been through too many of those. I'll just say, until the next time. Until I have to tell you something only you would understand. Until I can't resist sharing my secrets with you. I love you Roxy. And I forgive you for not being here.
Sleep peacefully angel,
Lucas.
About This Story
I was at my annual visit to the hairdressers, waiting for the highlights to take and basking in a child free afternoon when one of the girls walked past and popped a stack of magazines on the table in front of me to flick through. The pile was mostly made up of those real life type mags, the ones filled with true, or at least vaguely true stories, and the kind of which I would usually avoid. I can't stand them. The tales tend to be horror filled and traumatic and due to my over active imagination, they can haunt me for years. To this day, I still have stories I wish I could erase from my mind.
I'm not sure what prompted me to reach for the dog-eared magazine off the top of the pile that afternoon. Perhaps it was a catchy headline, perhaps a picture I couldn't help but learn more about. I don't remember. What I do remember is the piece I read. It was about a mother who gave birth to her first child and got to enjoy him for two idyllic weeks before being diagnosed with breast cancer. The cancer was aggressive and spreading fast and the mother's health quickly deteriorated. What followed was a year of intensive chemotherapy, abject terror, separation and disruption for their newly formed family. It seemed certain that she wouldn't make it. I believe, in the end this mother did pull through, though the details are fuzzy now after so long. What mattered to me though, what stuck with me long after putting the magazine back on the pile, was the fear she must have felt at the idea of leaving her brand new baby without a mother to raise him.
As a mother to two young children it affected me deeply and got me thinking. What would happen to them if I wasn't around. If I died, would they ever know how much they meant to me, how much I loved them, or would they always wonder? Would they be able to have a decent happy life without me? What about my husband? I had promised him a lifetime together, and checking out early would be a betrayal of the hopes and dreams we shared.
How can a person break the news to the people they love, that they have to say goodbye? How can they stand to shatter their hearts and yet have no way of changing their fate?
Writing has always been a comfort to me, knowing that I'm leaving a part of myself behind for my family to look back on, but One More Tomorrow has gone a step further. It forced me to consider the things I would want my children to know if I weren't here to tell them myself. That I love them beyond all measure. That I accept them unconditionally for who they are now and whoever they become in the future. That I believe in them, I know deep in my heart the goodness, the kindness, the sweetness that shines from them. That no matter what wrong turns they may take, I know they will find their way back.
It has been my way of writing my legacy of love to them. In fact, the title was very nearly going to be Legacy, only I decided it was too much of a spoiler.