I was two and so my memories are blurred.

Half merged with stories and other times that are sad and distant.

He was my brother

of three months

and one morning

he didn’t wake up.

My father pulled him, small and lifeless, from his bedding.

I remember the  curtains in my parents’ bedroom.

I don’t recall what kind of day it was but the wind was blowing those curtains out in billowing crisp waves.

I must have been peeking out

because I remember the ambulance

and there is  a vague recollection of people on the street, surrounding our house.

My mother said that I remarked;

“the ambulance is taking my brother away and he’s never coming back”.

I remember the navy blue cloth bassinet and thinking it was very high

but I could not see inside it

so I guess when my mother found me on the stool, looking in, that I was trying to determine if it was true;

that he was never coming back.

I remember my mother crying at night

for a very long time

but like I said,

I was two and days seemed to stretch like years and so I’m not sure how long those gut wrenching sobs lasted.

It might have been years.

It probably was.

As was the custom in the 1970’s, my mother was drugged, my father was drunk

and everyone carried on as if there was never a baby.

His twin and I were cared for as best as a grieving mother could.

We never wanted for anything

but I remember

life being quiet for a long time afterwards.

It could have been days or years, such is the memory of a young girl.

Probably just days.

I remember when I  became a mother three times over. 

I lived the first months of their lives  in fear that one day they just wouldn’t wake up.

I told my Mum -

I could never  imagine losing a baby.

until one day I didn’t need to anymore

because I was living the unimaginable

and all of those quiet tears on birthdays and anniversaries suddenly made sense.

October is SIDS awareness month.