The tortoise and the hare

To my dearest Ophelia,

Life has started to move on, we are in a different year to the year we had you. We are different people than the people who made you, different beliefs, different outlooks, different life. Sometimes the world is on a treadmill, how has it been almost seven months already? At the exact same time the world slows right down and seconds are our hours. I am living my own version of the tortoise and the hare except both co-exist within in me. I am not either but I am not neither. Your snowdrops are coming through, a season since we planted them and yet a seed is yet to be planted elsewhere. Time drags. Month to month to month.

Mummy can't remember like she used to, names, dates, places. It feels so fuzzy at times. I flit between light and dark like a candle blows with the breeze. I can't keep track. Sometimes I feel this overwhelming sensation of peacefulness, I feel like things are starting, like our wait is coming to an end. Seconds later I slip (maybe I'm pulled, I'm not sure) into heaviness. Nothing seems possible there, only re-runs, like an eternal showing of "Only Fools and Horses". It's not funny though. We know all the words and we have seen the ending a million times before, only no matter how hard we try there isn't a way to change the channel. It is like every breathe I take counteracts the last, good, bad, good, bad, good, bad... It is exhausting.

Mummy wonders if she has any control. I thought I could trust myself with you but my body betrayed me. It does that a lot. Symptoms here, there and everywhere, taunting me, letting me down. I can't remember what it was like before you, did I feel you before the two blues? I can't remember, not exactly, I need it to be exact, then I will know if it is ok not to feel it. I know I felt things before our first but when? When did I feel it? It needs to be exact, then I will know if it ok not to feel it yet. Mummy sound like she should be dressed in white with a check dressing gown, frizzy hair (I have that) and slippers. It gets inside your head. Symptom checking, charting, hoping, hoping, hoping...
No answers.

Mummy wants quiet, calm to run through my body and release me from prison. Mummy want to feel like the sun lights my way, like it has chosen me to shine upon. Like I have finally been picked to play ball. Mummy knows she will do a good job. I do a good job with you don't I? I wish I had more of a chance to show you.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

Love eternal,

Mummy & Daddy
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