The stages of grief are many
I went for a walk today with you, to the pond. We saw the baby signets as we drove past earlier and I was desperate to see them in the flesh. We got there and the pond was a ghost town, clearly tired baby swans need their rest. We walked around, you and I, alone. You sang and cuddled your blankie. I walked past a girl I went to college with. She walked with her friend and both had a baby and husband in tow. I walked alone and sad. No rings on my fingers (they're in a hospital bag somewhere). I felt so sad walking past happy families, dads walking their daughter's around the pond, children on bikes and babies sound asleep in prams. No cares or worries, except perhaps whether their baby will sleep through or what to have for tea. A normal life seems foreign and surreal and a complete dream. I am so jealous of people who have healthy children, who have normal lives and normal worries. I feel as though we will never be those people. I am coming to terms with your diagnosis. It is x-linked and though I knew this in my heart, it was a hard thing to hear. I feel guilt and anger in equal measures. It is not hereditary, meaning my mum is not a carrier. It is a mutation that started with me. That has been hard also. What are the odds of that? Of any of this? It all seems so unfair. We are off to hospital tomorrow and you will more than likely have surgery to drain another abscess. My return to work seems less and less likely. Please know this, sweet lamb, I would rather be with you every minute of the day, but I crave normality. When I go back to work, it will also signal your recovery. I long for these things. Caleb, I love you so much. You are an inspiration to us all. I hope you read this one day, cured from CGD and know that we love you with our whole hearts. You are EVERYTHING. Mum x