My Darling Grace . . .

My Darling Grace,

Sometimes I stand by your bed and watch you sleep. You look perfect to me. You breath in and out deeply and you are content. Every now and then you will jiffle about, or raise your eyebrows and sigh. This makes me smile. These are also the times I feel sad and miss my Mum the most.

I’ll  imagine that she is standing behind my left shoulder, just out of sight, and we are admiring you together. I concentrate hard and wish with all my heart that I will feel her hand on my shoulder, or her breath on my ear, whilst deep down knowing this cannot be.

I’ll play out scenes in my head. The setting is usually Mum’s home in her living room (it’s funny to think there’s a stranger living there now) and you, my baby girl, are happily marching around, singing in your clumsy toddler way for your adoring Nanny. She leans forward in her chair enthusiastically, clapping you and cheering you on. I like to think she is always cheering you on from somewhere Grace.

On you sleep.

You will occasionally rouse and suck you thumb to comfort yourself again and drift back off. Just like I used to. I wonder if Mum ever stood over my cot, watching me sleep and suck my thumb. I expect she probably did.

Thoughts will claw their way into my head. Thoughts I wish I could flick away, like you could a wasp droning in your face. But like the wasp, they incessantly linger. I feel an overwhelming sense of guilt. Guilt that one day I may break your heart like Mum did me when she left us. Guilt that I will not always be with you. Guilt that I have created a life that will feel the pain and torment the world throws at us, and yet I know deep down that it is these hard experiences that will make you who you are. That will round you into a strong, balanced and empathetic woman.

I wish for you Grace that the sorrowful times are few, the happy times are many, and the contented times are prevalent. I wish that I could put you into a golden bubble and keep you safe from hurt. I wish that you have inherited your Nanny’s strength of character.

 I wish that she was still here.

These private moments, watching you sleep, are the usual times I allow myself to grieve. Even the people who love you most eventually run out of things to say. The world expects you to move on, and to a certain extent, you do. But grief slowly becomes a solitary affair. The world sees your smile, but your stomach still feels the wrench.

In the morning Grace, the sun will rise, the world will waken, and you will sit up and call for me, hair askew and arms outstretched. Your beautiful smile will warm my heart and the sadness will ebb away again, strengthening my resolve to be strong and be happy. I will try my best to fill your day with laughter, friends, toys and adventure, and together, we will make the most of these, your most innocent years.

Always remember baby girl, you are bigger then the things you are afraid of.

I love you,

Mummy xxx

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18 Comments

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18 responses to “My Darling Grace . . .

  1. katherine brown

    Breathtakingly beautiful minty.xx.

  2. Beautifully written and perfectly understood. x

  3. This is such a beautiful post & has bought the tears flooding.
    My Mum isn’t here to see her Grandchildren, only my eldest knew her. My one wish in life would be for her to return & spend a day with them.
    Your statement about grief being a solitary affair is so true, I spend many moments staring at the one photo of my Mum in my house & talking to her in my head.
    Our Mums helped make us the Mums we are today & we will do the same for our children.
    Much love
    X

  4. My mum died on Christmas eve and this post has set me off again. My dad died before my boys were born and more than anything wish he could have met them. I wish you well, tak care

  5. As I’ve said on twitter to you, I’ve had to read this in two sittings. I am petrified of the day when my mum leaves me; it really used to frighten me so much. I have found a little comfort since The Boy’s birth but I can’t even begin to imagine how you feel! Huge hug.

  6. Beautiful, I cant imagine the feelings you have losing your mom. Such a way with words, a very emotional post. Stunned for words tbh xx

  7. Such a beautiful post 😦 in tears now xxx

  8. This is such a lovely post and I too am feeling really emotional reading it. I just wanted to say that, knowing you, you are one of the bravest people I know. No matter how you’re feeling you always have the biggest smile for Grace (and Luka) and you always put her first. Its so obvious your mum taught you well and you know she would be proud of you. And don’t forget you know where I am if you’re having a down day, you don’t always have to be supermum. Big hugs and kisses

    XxX

  9. Beautifully written and very moving xx

  10. This is beautiful and lovely. I have tears running down my face. I miss my mom all the more since I’ve had my daughter. Your love for your girl is practically tangible in this piece.

  11. tinytalkmiriam

    Beautiful, painful and true.

    M x

  12. Beautiful, it gave me goosepimples x

  13. beautiful post, i am an emotional wreck myself today, and this nearly tipped me over the edge!!!

    loss is such a complicated deep rooted thing, and it must hurt all the more, knowing what u feel for G is what your mum felt for you the strength of this feeling blows me away everyday as a mum…. thinking of you, Grace is a very lucky little girl…xxx

  14. Lovely post, so sad and so eloquently put.

  15. beautiful.
    allow yourself to grieve, and I am sure your mum is watching on proudly.
    big hugs x

  16. i know how you feel.
    my mum died when i was 19 and these thoughts of her creep in more now since having my daughter than ever.
    it makes me so sad that she isnt here to watch her grow up and that my daughter will never know how much my mum would have simply adored her.
    i often speak of her angel grandma whose all the more special as shes always with her,always watching,keeping her safe
    but it also makes me more aware not to take for granted what i think other people who havent lost loved ones do.

  17. Pingback: A Collaboration, and a Big-Up to our Mums! | waterbirthplease

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