It is not that I see it happening
It is not that I relive the night
But I feel it
I feel that night
It creeps up on me through the day
And as night falls
The icy grip of fear and terror takes hold
I look at Bea
Almost 6 months old but exactly as Tilda was at 9
Exactly as Tilda was when she died
Bea is never long out of my sight
Never really long out of my arms
And this week
For this one week
I am hating putting her down
David is exhausted from his week away
Craving bed and sleep
I am too scared to close my eyes
And when I do and I wake
Horror meets my eyes
A white baby
Tinged with blue
I blink and shake and look again
And there is Bea
As she should be
Pink and chubby
Breathing
Snuffling
As alive as alive can be
My heart races
Tears fall
Any hope of sleep is gone
Bea stirs
Searches the dark for comfort and milk
Her love
Her need
Her touch
Calms my heart
And then the guilt rages
For this healthy living baby
When I am missing our baby that died
Twists and turns and stabs of emotion
The wounds of loss and grief run deep
This week
This one week
The wounds are open
Weeping
Infected and sore
The hurt is hurting all over again
Burning
Stinging
The anger is bubbling
Fire of fear burning
A river of rage bursting its banks
As this week
This one week
I feel it all again
Wishing for just one more moment
Wishing for one last cuddle and open mouthed kiss
Wishing I had had my chance to say goodbye
Wishing that two years on we might at least have an answer
As to why and how our baby died
This week
This one week
Snatching at memories
Searching for smells long gone
It has been two years
She has been dead far longer than she was alive
Losing her is killing me
Has broken us
The damage and destruction is still going on
Not just this week
Or that week
No one week
But all weeks on and on
Our baby is missing
Dead
Cremated
Gone
This week
This one week
We are reminded
How much we have lost
How much we still stand to lose
How far we have come
How we hate ourselves for coming
This week
This one week
Bears the pain and fear and anger of all the other weeks
As we relive, recount, remember the one week when she died
The one week
That held the one night
She died












