I have a son

Hey World, it’s Henry’s mum,

I’ve spent the past two days learning how to use WordPress to make a pretty website and blog. I wanted to start by sharing Henry’s story but have developed a block and can’t. Sometimes I want to talk about it and other times I don’t have the words. I’ve written a very factual overview of Henry’s birth and death by way of introduction under the ‘Henry‘ tab above, it doesn’t go into the intense pain and trauma surrounding Henry’s death but it does give some information so go read if you want some background.

Instead of Henry’s story here’s a ramble from the heart. The other day a well-intentioned coroner’s officer visited our home to get a family statement for the inquest into Henry’s death, on the way out the door he said to us that ‘time will heal’, I hope what I’ve written below gives some idea of why I don’t think this is quite true.

I have a son, his name is Henry. You will never meet my son, only a handful of people ever did, but he exists. I am his mother and he is my son. He lived and he died and he mattered. I will not get over the death of my son, time will not heal the pain because every day he is missing.

There are so many things I will never know about my son: his likes and dislikes, his strengths and weaknesses, what his nature is. I can speculate based on the short time we had together but I will never know. I will not watch him grow and change. I will never know what he looks like as a toddler, a child, a teenager or an adult. The few photos I have of my son are all I will ever have.

I am five months into this journey so the milestones are frequent, they keep coming and they’ll keep on coming. He was missing from our first Christmas, our first family holiday and my first birthday as a mummy. He will be missing from every first. There will be no first day at school, no best friend or sleepovers. I will never hear my son’s voice, or his laugh, or hear him say ‘I love you mummy’. I will never receive a card addressed ‘dear mum’ written by his hand. I won’t see him pass his driving test, graduate from university or get married. I will never meet the grandchildren I could have had.  The milestones will never stop coming.

Every time I meet a person the age my son should be I will wonder what he’d be doing now. Whether that person be one, ten or 50-years-old, I will always wonder. My friends’ children will remind me of what I am missing, they are the friends my son should have had but never will.

This is a long journey I am on, one that will last a lifetime. I have a son and I expected him to be here for the rest of my life. Every day he is missing and he always will be, which is why I will never get over the death of my son.

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