A Nearly Perfect Picture

I'm sitting on my bed looking at the painting we had commissioned a year ago. It's a picture by a very talented woman who took an incredibly vague daydream I have often about Isaac and brought it to life. It's simply beautiful. It represents my 'perfect, happy place'.

 

Isaac and I are sitting on the banks of a river with our backs towards the viewer's perspective. The sun is out; the water is blue; and there is a pleasant cool breeze that softly blows through my hair. We are sitting under a very green and leafy tree for shade as we certainly don't want to burn with our kind of complexions! I'm wearing a pink and white summer dress and I have my arm around Isaac, who is wearing just a nappy and his 'space helmet' (the brain cooling hood I always remember him in). The overall feeling is one of contentment, calm and peace- a perfectly happy place.

 

I can sit and stare at this painting for ages. I marvel at this little boy, so sweetly sitting beside his mother. May be he is listening to me telling him a story, or possibly I'm singing to him as I do to his little sister (much to her annoyance- "mummy, noooooo!"). Or, may be it’s what I imagined in the day dream and we're just enjoying each other's company, listening to the sounds of the river passing us by. I guess there's real scope for the imagination here.

 

But a few things strike me today, on the eve of his 5th birthday, as I sit and contemplate the reality of this scene. There are a couple of things that seem unlikely. The first is you would rarely see me in a pink dress- it's not the most flattering colour on me! It would also be quite a novelty to see a 5 year old in just a nappy and 'space helmet' in the English countryside. I would have hoped Isaac would be potty trained by now at the very least! And also, what little boy do you know who would sit still beside to his mummy so calmly and quietly when there's a whole river bank to explore?

 

And then I remember and become annoyed with myself. It's not real so why do I need to question it? It's not a memory, it's a day dream; a perfect place I created in my mind. If it was a memory you would be reading a completely different story here. My son wouldn't have died. I wouldn't need to day dream about what we would do if he was here. I wouldn't need a 'perfect, happy place' to take me away from the anxiety of grief. In fact, I wouldn't need this painting at all.

 

But I do have this painting, and for the first time ever it makes me feel sad. It represents that 'what if' part of my mind that just can't let go of Isaac. You'd think after five years I would have found a way of accepting and letting his memory rest; just remember the time we had together; those six days of cuddles and kisses. Why do I seek to have so many reminders of the little boy that should be here?

 

It's not just the painting. Isaac 'memorabilia' is scattered all around me: candles, decorations, framed quotes, songs on my iPod that remind me of him; even the Running for Isaac charity page and blog! There isn't one place in my house, in my life, in my head that doesn't seem to be filled with Isaac. I start to feel sad that I ever had the painting commissioned in the first place.

 

What's even sadder is that I had to have it done. I had to 'create' a memory that doesn't exist to make me feel close with my boy. It's sad that he should be here but was taken away from me. He should be 5 years old.  He should be running around in a real field, exploring the river bank and the nature around it, scrapping his knees as he carelessly trips up from leaping around so recklessly, making me kiss them better before he shoots off to explore something else like nothing had happened. It's incredibly sad that it's been five years, and I can't let go.

 

There's a part of me that is defiant though. Why should I let go? He was here. He existed.  I still love him more than my own life. In fact, isn't that what a mother is meant to do- love their children regardless? Why should that end because he's not here? It never will. I will never ‘get over it' because the day Isaac was born I became a mother. You can't change that.

 

I don't know why the painting sparks such a sad range of mixed emotions in me today other than that fact that I miss him.  I've lived without him for nearly 5 years now. How have I come this far without giving up when my longing for him is still so strong?

 

I just miss my boy.

 

I miss his downy fine blond hair that smelt so pure. The tight grip of his fingers around mine. The all consuming love he made me feel. He was perfect in every way to me. But Isaac was only 'nearly perfect'. That's what I was told from day 1 to day 6 of his life.

 

He was perfectly healthy- apart from the brain damage.  Scans showed that his perfectly formed organs would have worked properly- if it wasn't for the brain damage. He would have been a perfectly healthy, happy, knee scrapping 5 year old boy- if it wasn't for the brain damage.  I've learnt that nothing stays perfect. There is no such illusion anymore.

 

So may be that's what the picture needs to be: a nearly perfect memory. It would be upgraded to ‘perfect’ if it was a real. The effect it has on me can't be one single, perfect emotion. It's a mix of sadness and joy, love and longing- much like the time I spent with Isaac. That nonsensical feeling of joy and sadness we experienced during his life makes just a little more sense now.

 

The picture is a perfect memory that doesn't exist. But for now, tomorrow, for however long it takes, it can stay perfect for a while longer.

 

XxX




We would like to ask everyone who reads this to light a candle in memory of Isaac or a loved one they have lost.

If you would like to donate to the Evelina Children's' Hospital please go to: http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/fundraiser-web/fundraiser/showFundraiserPage.action?userUrl=runningforisaac&pageUrl=13

 

Courage

(About mothers) “Perhaps it takes courage to raise children." John Steinbeck 

I read this quote a few months ago. I remember thinking 'there's no 'perhaps' about it!' Of course it does. There is no mother in this world that hasn't had to find the courage to put her child first above everything: work, relationships, and even their own life. For most, your child is always more important than anything else in this world; and it takes courage to keep going when you're exhausted, stressed, or in the midst of a crisis. Putting someone before your own needs comes as second nature to most mums, but it still takes courage to keep going during tough times, and in fact, during everyday challenges. Balancing a job, dealing with sickness, lack of sleep... Mums are amazing. 

It takes even more courage to raise a child on your own. I think of how brave and courageous my own mother is to have done this with three young children: to put our own happiness first when it might have been easier to stay in a terrible relationship. Through the best and worst of times she has always put our needs first, and (I think!) did an amazing job at raising us. Even now she thinks of us first in everything she does. The single mums out there display courage and strength everyday. 

It takes courage to want to be a mum too. So many of us can't just 'have a baby' as easily as that. Some beauty souls adopt to give a child the love and care they need. Some of us face grueling years of treatment to eventually have our 'miracle' babies. Some do fall pregnant and then loose their child. Some women never get the chance to be the mum they long to be.  I'm always so mindful of those journeys now. And the love and courage these women find to keep going through everything is remarkable. They are extraordinarily brave and courageous women. 

Being a mother to a child on this earth and one who is an angel is emotionally tough  and quite a challenge to say the least.  I struggle every day; and whether the challenge is missing Isaac or feeling guilt towards loving Isla just as much, I know that the one thing I have had to be is courageous. I have had to learn that's it's okay to love Isla. She is a huge blessing and the minute I saw her I was besotted. I had to believe it's okay to feel that way, as Isaac would have wanted that. He's still my first born. He still has the other half of my heart, despite him not being here. Before Isla came along I never thought I would be able to share my heart again. Whether people understand or not, it's taken courage to allow another child in to my heart. The guilt a bereaved mother feels after having a rainbow baby is huge. I think of Isaac every time Isla does something for the first time: walking, talking; singing... Raising her with that guilt is hard and takes every inch of my courage not to shout out that her big brother should be here to show her how it's done. Courage. That's what angel mums have to show each day. Even at the best of times, it can still take courage just to smile. I do it because I have been blessed with a beautiful baby to look after here on this earth. May be one day I will go to Isaac and be his mum there 'for real' too. 

It has to be acknowledged that today is a very difficult day for some of my friends and family who are missing their own mothers too. Loss on significant days like this is magnified. How could it not be? You are all in my thoughts. 

Wanting, having and raising children does take courage. There is no doubt about that. To all those women out there, whether you are celebrating Mothers Day or not, whatever your reasons, you're amazing. ❤️