In hospital there are no butterflies

and so the girl and I made some.

Cellophane and pipe cleaners,

feathers and ribbons.

They drift, mid air,

with the lazy current of the opening and closing of our door.

They are all the colours of the rainbow and remind me of childhood

and sunshine

and laughter.

They are everything that should be.

It’s strange being here, on William’s birthday.

My past and my present,

my loss and my gain.

It’s strange and symbolic.

The universe has a funny way of reminding you just how amazing it is.

It can ground you

and leave you with a sense of what is really important.

I miss the thought of him, more than anything, I think

because, really, that’s all I have.

I wonder who he would be,

this boy of eight

and all of the other important things that mothers like to know -

like the colour of his hair and foot size

and if his favourite food would be spaghetti bolognese

like his sister before him and his younger brother.

These are things I sometimes think I will ponder until the end of my time.

Some people might think that strange to celebrate a boy who isn’t here

but he was my son

and I loved him before we was even earth side

and just because he isn’t doesn’t mean these feelings leave me.

We are no allowed to leave the hospital today.

A story for tomorrow

but my little earth angel, my sweet girl gave us a big scare

and her health not stable enough to go

but the paed has said we can take her out onto one of the grassy patches

in the hospital grounds.

Dave and the kids are coming and we will have a small picnic together.

Together -

I think our butterfly boy would like that.

Happy birthday sweet boy.

We all miss you.

Very much.