Wednesday, 7 November 2012

Dear Monty Buster...

November 7th 2012

Dear Montgomery Buster,

So my big boy, eyes I could plunge into and swim around in forever happy, knowing you were the one, the one who made me ‘mum’.

Our first born, and you’re 9! How did we get here? I remember being 9. It doesn’t seem that long ago…

And the years you’ve lived. What a story you have already to tell, in Whitby then France just weeks after your 3rd birthday. There where you loved and lived and grew and spoke another language. You, being the only boy, took much comfort in your dad. You guys had an understanding, a boy thing going on, something I’ll never get, I’m too girly!

I read back over my letter to you last year ( your dad was still in the coma after having had his accident. I remember taking you in to see him in ICU, they don’t let you in France, so I had to make them bend the rules. You walked down the corridor with me, you were so strong and so brave, you sat, asked lots of questions about the machines, and then flung yourself into me, sobbing ‘can we go now mum? Please’.

Since this happened, you have been so brave. You are growing up fast, an old wise head on very young shoulders. You are naturally extremely protective over your sisters, always have been and are so even more now. Sometimes you cry that you hate the world, you hate the house without dad here. You hate being the only boy because dad should be here too. Sometimes you get angry, and that’s okay you know, so do I.

You’re inquisitive, never leave a stone unturned, quick and sharp, funny and very clever. You have charm and you care, I’m lucky enough to be one of the last mums left who still gets a kiss and a cuddle in public! You’re full of life, of fun, so mature, your sisters always look to you for their lead. And you never falter, you do lead. You take on the responsibility of being their big brother, the only male in the house, and you instinctively protect and help and look after them all. They adore you…as I do.

I see the strength of your dad in your young shoulders. I see your dad’s reflective looks, a thousand thoughts that cross through your mind.

I see how well you are coping with all this, and the times it’s too much and you fall down and cry. Because although you know dad still loves you, you just miss the dad he was.

I can’t promise you he’ll ever be that way again, I don’t think he will be. All I do know is that his love for you carries through the ages, through skies and time and fire and rain. It is never-ending, it is unconditional and it is, like mine, all engulfing.

I promise son, I will always do my best by you, to protect you, guide you, help you. To be strong for you, to keep hold of you in tough times. I will be your stability, your constant, no matter what life throws at you.

My hopes and prayers for you are that you have seen your inner strength, at such a young age. You have seen how you can cope. What has happened is a child’s worst nightmare at your age. You are dealing with something immense, and you’re doing so well. I hope you know I am here, always, whenever for you.

That when you first came into the world, it was not me (I was under general anaesthetic, emergency section), but your amazing dad who rocked you, held you for the first time. He told me later he’d walked you, talked to you about how you and him would look after me, being boys, that he was devoted to you, to me, for an hour and half, he rocked, talked, you gazed wide eyed, not crying, up at him.

Your dad’s an amazing man, you’re his amazing little, sorry, ‘big’ boy.

Be bold, courageous, strong, help and be respectful of others. Have compassion and abundant love. Do not be broken by anything, learn from it. You’re one strong youngling!

Baby boy, my heart aches for you, a pain I’ll never lose, but I am immensely proud of you and can never hope to put into words my love for you.

Happy birthday my nine-year-old boy!

Love from your mummy xxxxxxxxxxx

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