I fell asleep on your nursery floor again today. I often find myself in there just looking at the wall that’s opposite where your empty cot once stood, trying to imagine what you would have drifted off to sleep staring at or woken up to at all hours of the night searching for the familiarity your nursery would bring you, crying out for your mummy and daddy to comfort you.
Sometimes I smile. Other times I feel so mad. Today I just sat there shaking my head in disbelief you’re not here. Instead of bright colourful toys and piles of mess there are care packs and boxes of journals and milestone cards. There’s certificates of stars in your name on the wall and a page of the paper with your name on it along with thousands of other names of all the friends you have made up there in paradise. Your clothes still hang in your wardrobe, collecting dust. The shoes and cute little gum boots I love are on the shelf where I placed them when you were safe inside me, still alive.
Your nursery is now a time machine. A place where I can teleport back to, to a time where there was so much hope and excitement for the future. Endless possibilities for our family and a fear for the unknown of what parenthood was going to bring us. A space I can escape to when I need to feel close to you. A place that brings me comfort and sees me begging to some almightier being to get me through another day without you.
One day I know I might need to part with this imprint of your existence but for now it will stay and I will imagine for a moment you are there with me.
I miss you my darling.