After seven years, July still surprises me, how much it still hurts.
After seven years, we still miss you ever more.
Every July, I awaken with hopeful alertness in the middle of the night. Before I open my eyes to the dark, I will tell myself I need to look sharp, in case I see you, for I am sure you will disappear in a blink and I must imprint that image of you deeply in my heart.
But you never visited, even though I felt so intently that you are close by.
You are so far, and yet so near.
You are our star voyager. Far, far away, we cannot reach. We cannot touch. We cannot hold. We cannot kiss our little boy, and pinch his cheeks,. Yet between us we silently toss you within our hearts, cradling you ever so fiercely yet gently. When we sing, we hope the echoes of our voices reach you wherever you are. When we read, we imagine you must hear the stories too, and marvel with us.
You would have been seven. A child probably all excited about his birthday celebration, thinking balloons, cake and presents. Maybe trucks, maybe fireworks. Perhaps dinosaurs, or spiders, or a treehouse. Mud, ice cream and tadpoles. I do not know, I only imagine.
But I never really try to imagine you as how old you ought to be. You are either the baby whom I held, and did not want to give up to the unknown; or you are the grown-up boy who comes a-knocking on the door, always a dream and forever a fantasy of mine. I think, trying to imagine every year how you ought to be, is just too much for me. I just want to have you tiny to hold, or big to really bear-hug.
July is a month on the calendar, always coming after June, never out of line. Yet it always arrives with a long, hard stab. And then it never fails to be a long month, hot and slow. It is a month of memories. I treasure the time to re-visit all those lovely moments, when we anticipated you. And it is good to have the time and space to sit down and let the tears flow, because the truth is, I do not always allow myself the time or space for tears during other times of the year.
Your sisters, they miss you too. Often wondering how it would have been like to have a brother in their mix. Your littlest sister, she is unaware of you yet. Or is she? I cannot be totally certain. But I have not introduced you to her yet. I wanted to make sure she is old enough that she will not just feel sad and scared, but instead will have a sense of amazement and admiration for the brother whom she never met. Maybe next year. Sometimes I think she will just tell me, “I knew him all along. Ferdinand. Star voyager.”
I have nothing more to say. Still the same things, Ferdinand. We miss you, and we love you, forever more.
Love to you and your voyager
Oh I remember the post that you’ve reference here so clearly. That is how I picture your son in my mind’s eye. A dashing young man with long hair and stories.
Thinking of you and remembering your Ferdinand as July comes to an end for another year. Love to you xo.
Love to you, my dear friend.
I can’t remember how I found your blog but reading this today was so sad and sweet at once. My son would be almost 7 months old now… He has been gone for 6. Knowing you miss your son just as bad after 7 years is both scary and reassuring. Thank you for sharing this beautiful letter to Ferdinand.
I am sorry to hear about your son, typhaine. Sometimes I am afraid I forget, especially when life gets hectic and busy, so yes, you are right, that pain and missing can be reassuring…
So glad to see you posting, Janis. š Thinking of Ferdinand along with you.
Thinking of Ferdinand
I just wanted to pop in and tell you that I often think of you and Ferdinand… something pulled me to say this to you today. Sending love and light as always Janis…