A chronicle of our journey after losing our firstborn

In the beginning, this was a place for me to pour out my grief.

This was my sanctuary and outlet, as I attempted to put words to my pain.

Journalling here allowed me to cope with my grief and to come to terms with our loss.

It was my way of letting some of the darkness out. And a way of helping those around us gain a tiny insight into the very same darkness that had become our world.

Three years and nine months on from Cameron’s death, the reality is that life has continued, does continue and will continue.

Although Cameron’s absence remains a constant in our lives, there is also joy. Even laughter.

And even though we don’t get to see Cameron every day, we are reminded of him all the time when we see his resemblance in the faces of his three brothers.

Yes, not a day passes that I do not miss our first son, but that does not stop us from loving and enjoying our other boys. In fact, because of Cameron’s death, we cherish his brothers all the more.

So I want to start doing something different with Cameron’s little corner here.

We may not grieve as we did in that first year, but we continue to love him, miss him and remember him every day.

Rather than only writing here when I am sad, I want to return here every other day with either images or words to show how Cameron is woven into the very fabric of our family, our home and our everyday lives.

So today marks a new beginning for this blog.

And even if no one else reads this or looks at this little corner apart from myself, this will continue to be my way of honouring the legacy that my precious little boy has left behind.

This week on our day off, we decided on impulse to visit Cameron at the memorial gardens.

As usual, we brought along two coffees and our two picnic rugs, but this time instead of two boys, we had three with us.

We explained to Angus in the car where we were going. His response was swift and delightful: “See Cameron! See Cameron!”

The weather was chilly, but not too cold. It was overcast, but there was no rain. When we arrived, I could see people coming out of the same chapel where we had Cameron’s funeral. They were all wearing black. I couldn’t see the expression on their faces, but I could imagine.

Once James was fed, the five of us made our way to Cameron’s place in the gardens. Rick pushed Pete along in the pram while I carried James in his sleeping cocoon with one hand and held onto Angus with the other.

Pete wanted to get down from the pram as soon as we arrived so Rick let him out. We laid out the picnic rugs, and I set James down in his cocoon. Angus sat down next to me and kept drinking his water.

Rick and I both immediately saw that there were – once again – no roses in Cameron’s rose bush. We exchanged disappointed looks with one another.

I spent some time taking photos while Rick kept an eye on both Pete and Angus. They were both keen to walk around and explore. It didn’t escape my notice how much they’d both grown up since our last visit on Cameron’s third anniversary in September.

In fact, I was struck by how much had happened in our lives in three and a half years. From losing Cameron to welcoming Angus, Pete and James into our lives, I felt like we’d been on a crash course of life, grief and parenting.

We didn’t stay very long.

When Angus realised we were packing to leave, he became quite upset: “See Cameron! See Cameron!”

We did our best to explain that we couldn’t actually “see” Cameron, but that this was a special place where we could come to remember him.

Angus looked at us and then asked, “Where?”

“Cameron is with God.” I wasn’t even sure which one of us replied.

“With God!” he repeated.

“Yes, Cameron is with God.”

“Yes!” he exclaimed, and then walked off to see what Pete was doing.

Once we were all packed, I asked Rick if I could stay behind for a while.

I watched silently as they walked away, and then knelt down in front of Cameron’s plaque.

Tears began to pour down my face.

I looked down at his plaque through my tears, and spoke as if he were there:

“Hey Cameron, mummy wants you to know that I haven’t forgotten about you. I always carry you in my heart. I constantly remember how warm you were when I held you for the first time, and how much you filled our arms. I will never forget how I couldn’t stop crying that day, knowing that we wouldn’t get to bring you home and that I would never get to watch you grow up. I love you little man.”

In tears, I sang the last verse of Amazing Grace as I continued to kneel there, next to the place where my son’s remains were buried. I looked up and wished for some blue sky and sunshine but none came.

I cried all the way back to the car, where Rick was waiting for me with arms outstretched…