I recently turned 30. “It’s all down hill from here” was said to me so many times. Really? What a truly awful thought. Speak for your own life people.
I look around at all my friends who are my age or slightly older/younger. Most of them have lived through their 20’s in a really epic way. Partying every weekend, travelling the world, creating their dream careers. I look back at my 20’s and I honestly, I just feel exhausted. I didn’t travel, I didn’t party… well I didn’t party much and the career I chose was that of being a mama to my beautiful babies. In this last decade I have been pregnant 6 times and I’ve given birth to 4 babies within 4 years. River and Ocea were born healthy, alive, kicking a crying. Scarlett spent the beginning of her beautiful life in the NICU, as breathing on her own proved to be impossible. 2 of my babies died within the first few weeks of pregnancy and Christian, my darling little boy, was stillborn. I have been grieving him for the last 5 1/2 years. The day he was born I must have aged a lifetime. I feel old, even ancient on some days. So when I hear someone tell me that I am 30, I think “Awesome”! I’m actually quite young. I have much to do yet in this lifetime and I feel like I’m only at the beginning still.
I feel as though I am living on a different life zone to so many of my friends. Most of them are only just starting to settle down now. Getting married, getting a house, having babies. I can’t relate to them, I guess I never really could. And that is okay. I then have my new friends. The ones who I have met because the little loves of their lives left them early. Them, I can relate too. We are ancient together. We have lived more than enough lives in just this short one. We carry our own grief and we carry each others as well. We talk, cry and laugh together. No you didn’t read that wrong, bereaved parents can laugh too you know. We are not the fulltime sad people who others may have assumed us to be.
The only thing I feel sad about turning 30 is that I am now in a different decade to the one that I physically held my son. I just never would have imagined that such a tiny little person would have such a giant impact on my heart. I mother him, everyday. Only he is not here. It is a spiritual mothering. I talk to him, whisper secrets to him, imagine him painting the sunset as I photograph it. Then as I lay my head to rest each night, I see him dancing through the stars in a little handmade fox costume that his Nan would have made for him. I parent him. I do. He feels my mothering. I know he does because he sends me his love in his own little ways. Ways that a five year old boy would.
I don’t care what anyone thinks of me. I will mother my darling Christian for the rest of my life. Call me crazy, I probably am. But it’s my birthday and I’ll mother my dead son if I want to.