Tilly and the baby…

I can’t recall the month or the date but I remember those beautiful baby blue eyes as though I am looking straight in to them at this very moment. The tiniest little fingers you’ve ever seen and this little puckered up mouth.
I was incredibly young. Only 11 years old but I had just brought this perfect little life in to this world. I’d done it on my own and it had been terrifying but that is not what I want to remember about that day.
For years and years, my memories of that baby and his death that followed soon after would torture me. They filled my days with flashbacks and my nights with terrors I can’t even begin to explain. The guilt I held was so incredibly wide and deep, no bridge could span it. I should have known more, done more, tried harder…
My own memories were hard enough and confused me incredibly but when you only hold a small percentage of certain memories, it’s hard at times to even believe these things really happened. My insides knew it all did but my head wanted to say “NO! It was just a dream. A terrible dream.”
Little (Helper) Tilly is only 11 years old. She holds many of the memories from the end of my 10th year until the baby was born in my 11th year. She is still 11. Stuck back there as though that time is still happening to her. Her anxiety is my anxiety and my unrelenting panic seems familiar to her as well. I don’t know a lot about Tilly. She doesn’t like to talk. She is rarely ever sent forwards to deal with any situations because her small world didn’t include many strengths that I am aware of just yet. Only pain and fear. A phobia of knitting needles is her only really calling card to push her to the front. You’d think knitting needles aren’t very common but you’d be surprised how common they are when you try to avoid them. I feel badly for her and want to help but that is a long process. Quite honestly? Even at 44, I feel ill-equipped to deal with all she has seen.
That part of the story is sad and I am sorry to share anything sad but it is a huge part of who I am and it is also the cause of a major shift in my life.
While in hospital last year, I was encouraged to share the story. The whole unedited story with nothing left out. Whatever needed to be said was said with no judgements attached. After the terrible story, a new story was begun.
What did you name him?
Can you move your eyes from his lifeless body to a mental picture of him being well?
Does he have a birthday?
I had no answers for any of these questions. His birth and his death were all that I saw and that needed to change. No matter how short his life, he deserved to be celebrated
So I’ve given him a life.
His name is Marcus and although he was only hours old when he passed, he was gorgeous. He was perfect and his eyes were so blue, they looked like glass. Those little fingers wrapped around mine and around Tilly’s and gave us both a moment to cherish. I’ve also chosen a birthday for him. I am sure it’s not the “right” day but it’s close enough and he deserves a special day to be thought about. I lost someone very dear to me recently who had a March birthday and Marcus was my 1st child so March 1st is his birthday. He would be 33 now which is unbelievable to me.
I have a memorial gift left at a special tree at the hospital and brought a matching one along with a fallen branch home with me.
He lived.
He died too but that is no longer the end of his story. Now he’s one of my children and he’s been brought out the dark and in to my life to be remembered and thought of.
One day we will meet again and he can tell me all about the things he’s done while waiting for me to join him again.
I bet he’s been busy doing something amazing.