It’s been six years. Six, long years without you, this week.

How is it possible to live without your physical presence in my life? You are there in each and every moment, but I miss you. So very much. This last one has been a hard month, I have been trying to formulate how I have spent the longest six years of my life. And no word, no sentence has seemed good enough. I remember today. I recall the moments, the feelings and happenings of our last hours together. I still remember the colours of that evening, the route to the hospital, the ‘I don’t know what is happening, but I know that it’s terribly sad’ feeling of the medical check-up, the shock.

I still feel numb. I wish I could change it all, I still wish something could be done so that now you could be here sitting on my lap, giggling and reading a book with me. Now it has dawned on me that actually it is your birthday.

The day which also turned out to be the day when you died. There is no birthday celebration. I’m alone remembering, I can’t share it with anyone. I’m still your mother, my sweet little son. I am who I actually am because you came into my life. Normally I would list all the good things, too, all your presents, saying that I am eternally grateful. I am not doing it now.

I feel truly sad and empty. You missing from my life is so very painful.

There are no routines to celebrate this day. Each year is different, but I go over all the details in my mind each time.

The path I’ve been walking since then is a fairly new one. I still don’t know where the steps I’m taking lead me to. Each one is a leap of faith, as it has been so ever since you were born that day. This may also be true for those mums who take their children home from the hospital safe and sound and live happily ever after. Yet, I believe I would trade all the rest of my life for just one day with you, if more is not possible.

Although I only saw the ultrasound picture of your face I have it burnt into my retina. You were so beautiful in that picture, I bet, you are so beautiful today. My gorgeous baby boy. There are so many things I wish I were able to change, yet, one thing is for sure.

I love you, love you eternally. Little, sweet son of mine.

• Author
• Recent Posts

Éva Zsák

Éva Zsák is 39. She lives in Hungary and Italy. She is a teacher and an interpreter, but now also a medical school student. Her little angel, Peter is her only child. He died five years ago due to a premature rupture of membranes. This experience changed her life completely. She started to learn about grief and child-loss and the importance of the human factor in doctor-patient relationships. She likes reading, poetry, and literature in general.

Latest posts by Éva Zsák (see all)

• What Child is This? - December 24, 2016
• A New Schoolbag - September 5, 2016
• No Simple Path to Okay - August 19, 2016