When Patrick was about 16 months old and walking
comfortably, he loved walking back and forth at the foot-end of our bed,
peeking through the wooden bars that were just about the right height for him,
grinning his cheeky, dimple-y grin. I have a very vivid memory of him doing this
often. I recall the curly tuft of hair on top of his head, his eyes, twinkly
and bright and his smile.
He took great delight in playing this little game of
peekaboo.
It has been one of those things I have missed most over the
years.
Then, quite out of the blue the other evening, Caoilfhionn,
who had been cuddled up beside me on the bed drinking her milk, turned over on
her tummy, slid of the bed and started pottering back and forth around the
room. As she passed the foot-end of the bed, she spotted me through the bars,
stopped and turned to press her little face right up to them…
…And for a moment it felt like Patrick was looking back at
me. Very similar roguish expression, mischievous twinkle in her eyes, dimple-y
grin.
It was one of those bittersweet moments. It felt good to
play this game again, yet it accentuated a miss that is just beyond compare.
She spent the next few minutes running back and forth,
stopping every time to press her little face right up to the bars and flash a
big toothy grin complete with dimples on either side. Seems to me that she has
the same sort of devilment about her than Patrick did and occasionally, I feel
for her long suffering older brother who will most likely end up drawing the
short straw against this little force of nature on many occasions, yet.
As much as this short game brought back some precious
memories that made me smile, it made my heart feel heavy at the very same time.
Almost 8 years on, triggers can still lurk everywhere…in
simple, unexpected and everyday things.
Emotions remain close to the surface…Irrespective of how
many years have passed.
With time, I think I have learnt to acknowledge the emotions
that are triggered. I grant them a nod, afford them their place in my life and
park them as I need to, to continue going about my daily life, busy as it is
once more.
Despite us feeling tired and rushed off our feet week after
week right now, I will never forget the day that our world screeched to a halt.
The sudden loss of meaning in life.
The feeling of going from so incredibly busy to just not
knowing what to do with all this time once more.
The loss of identity after losing a first born.
The confusion.
The pain.
The never-ending miss.
Life keeps us busy enough so that my head does not get a
chance to visit that place all too often but when it does, the emotions as raw
now as they were then.
The Miss is real. The longing for the mischievous, curly
haired little tot with the dimply grin who has his face pressed against the
bars of our bed playing a game of peekaboo.
Miss you lots, Sproggy-pops.
