And everyone is besotted.
The house is full of flowers and a sea of pink.
Wisteria blossom falls and blows through the front door.
Lowen meets his new baby sister and gives her kisses.
All the grandparents see her and fall in love.
Her first trip to the beach and she sleeps the whole time.
An outing in the double buggy,
A trip to the park,
Time in the garden,
Breakfasts out with Mum and Dad…
It’s hard to think back to these times – and remember what we thought about. It’s hard to even imagine those people we once were. We didn’t really appreciate those memories, but it was also blissfully ignorant. I remember being ecstatically happy – like it was all slightly too good to be true.
We only had 12 days with Maisie before we started to fear for her life. I can’t really remember those days very well. Whether we thought much about the future, our future with a son and a daughter and all the fun that was to come. Or whether I was just tired and worried about looking after two under-threes. I definitely remember worrying about how Lowen was doing now that all the attention was no longer on him.
But it was wonderful seeing them interact in those early days. And she was so cute and tiny. I remember being exhausted. In a sleepless cloud of confusion. And I was still so busy. Full of lists. The lists of things I wanted to complete before her arrival. I thought maybe I could complete now instead.
I’m still so guilty of that now. Lists lists lists. Busy busy busy. I wish I could just calm down and eliminate them. Just focus on the here and now. And be happy with my lot. Maybe that is what Lowen and Maisie would like to teach me. To live life a little simpler.
In those photos of the early days – she looks so much like Maisie already. It’s still so hard to take in that she isn’t here anymore. That she won’t be here again.
It is heartbreaking to explain this to Lowen, especially. We drove past the hospital in Bristol that day before the 10K and asked him if he remembered visiting Maisie there. He did, and he wanted to see her there again. He doesn’t yet understand the finality of death, and what it means. He was upset and confused as to why he couldn’t see her. His grief and confusion is oddly similar to our own in some ways. He expresses exactly what we feel. Because although we have the adult understanding of what it all means, it still doesn’t sink in. It’s still too hard to comprehend. How can she be gone? How can we never see her ever again? She must still be here, surely?
I look for her everywhere. Especially in the birds and the flowers, and natural beauty generally.
Because she is here. She must be. All around us. Surely?