What's 30 years or so?

This is the day, 30 years ago, that I sat in a hospital bed, confused, bemused, besotted... At 1:49am on August 10th 1981 I gave birth to JC. Some 6 weeks premature, very small even for that gestation & with a fighter's strength he hung on to life with a determination belied by his size. He was delivered naturally, suddenly and still in the amniotic sac. The nurses wrapped him up in a warm blanket and then silver foil. They held him out to show me with the words "here's your son, you probably won't see him again". These are not words you want to hear when you've just given birth to your first child. These are actually words you just never want to hear.

They were wrong though.

The little things

I'm someone who copes. Life deals me shit, I deal with it. I don't complain a whole lot nor spend time thinking I'm hard done by. Not enough time in my life to waste doing that. That's not to say I don't whinge at times. I do, we all do but it's never been a focus for me. We all cop shitty things in life and you just have to deal with it and get on with finding what was good in amongst the crap.

I have some days that I get through without thinking of my other sons. The ones I can't hug, the ones I love as much as the one I have with me now and as much as I love my daughter. The ones I miss, the ones I wouldn't have back if it meant I would have to give back my now children.

Then there's days when one small thing will make me think of my eldest son and a smile will play across my face, or maybe some tears will fall from my eyes. It happens far less with my other son since I never got to meet him let alone form any lasting memories of time with him. My eldest son though... walking in the rain can bring back memories. Helping my now son to balance. Picking a flower. Seeing a toy that JC played with. Hearing a word he could say. Today it was remembering his laughter.

His tinkling, joyful, effervescent, infectious, amazing laughter.

I wish I could play that sound for you. There are no words that describe it as well as it deserves. It was medicine of the best sort. Guaranteed to cure all ills. Destined to put a smile on your face, a joyful spring in your walk. This time it bought a tear to my eyes and a wistful happiness to my heart that I can still hear him when I close my eyes.

I fear the day I cannot recall his face, his tiny arms wrapped around my neck, his laughter, his joy in living.

When I can no longer remember will he fade to nothingness?

Will he no longer be real?