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
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
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