Four years today
Four years today since I last saw Emma and Jack. Emma would be 12 now, Jack 9. I don’t even know if they still like football or if Emma’s still mad about horses.
Been sitting in my car outside what used to be Emma’s primary school watching the kids come out. I know it’s probably not healthy but some days I just… need to see children their age. Wonder if they’ve grown tall like their dad or kept my stubborn cowlick.
My therapist Linda says I’m allowed to grieve today. That anniversaries hit different. She’s right but knowing that doesn’t make the ache in my chest any less sharp.
I used to plan their birthdays months ahead. Now I send cards to an address I’m not even sure they live at anymore. My ex moved them twice without telling me - found out through a mutual friend at Sainsbury’s of all places.
The worst part? I dreamed about them again last night. We were at Center Parcs like we used to go every summer. Emma was teaching Jack to ride a bike and they were both laughing. Woke up and for about thirty seconds I forgot. Thought I could text Emma about her maths homework.
God I miss being their mum. Not just missing them - missing being the person who knew Emma likes her toast barely golden and that Jack still sleeps with that tatty elephant.
four years. How is it four years.
Sorry for rambling. Just needed to put this somewhere today.
God, four years. I felt that in my chest reading this.
I’m three years in with my lot and those dream nights are the absolute worst aren’t they? I had one last week where we were all making pancakes on a Sunday morning like we used to and I woke up reaching for my phone to ask if anyone wanted to go to the park. That few seconds before reality kicks back in… it’s cruel.
The school thing - I get it completely. I drove past my youngest’s old nursery for months until I finally made myself stop. Something about seeing kids that age, wondering if yours have grown out of their trainers again or if they still remember that silly song you used to sing in the car.
I still send birthday cards too, to an address that might not even be right anymore. Linda sounds wise - anniversaries do hit different. Be gentle with yourself today x
This hit me so hard. Four years is… I can’t even imagine.
I’m only 8 months in and already feel like I’m losing pieces of who my kids are - Arjun’s probably forgotten I used to cut his rotis into little trains. The not knowing if they’ve changed, if they remember… that’s the bit that keeps me awake.
Your dream about Center Parcs made me cry because I have those too x
God mate, four years. That’s a long stretch of not knowing.
I’m 6 years in now - my daughter Sophie was 11 when it started, she’s 17 now. And I get that thing about sitting outside schools. I used to drive past her high school some afternoons, just… I don’t know, hoping to catch a glimpse. Never did, but something about seeing kids her age made it feel less like she’d vanished off the planet entirely. My mate Dave thought I was losing it but honestly those drives were the only thing that felt real some days.
The dreams are brutal aren’t they. I still get them - we’re at the beach house we rented that last Christmas before everything went sideways. Sophie’s building sandcastles and asking me to help with the moat like she used to when she was little. Then I wake up and remember she probably doesn’t even think about those holidays anymore. Or maybe she does but they’re poisoned now, turned into something else entirely.
That bit about missing being their mum - christ that hit me. I miss being the person who knew Sophie takes her tea with way too much sugar and that she can’t sleep without her bedroom door slightly open. Now some days I wonder if she still does those things or if I’m just carrying around the ghost of who she used to be. The not knowing is almost worse than the missing sometimes. At least grief you can work with, but this limbo just sits there.
Six years and I still don’t have answers for how the time passes.
God, four years. seven for me and I still get that punch to the gut on the anniversary.
My daughter would be 15 now and I do the same thing - write her letters, send them to an address that might not even be right anymore. Found out from her old piano teacher that they moved house. Piano teacher, for crying out loud. That’s how I learn about my own child’s life.
Those dreams are the worst aren’t they. I dreamed last month that she was still 8 and asking me to help with her reading. Woke up reaching for my phone to text her about homework before reality hit. The forgetting for those few seconds - christ that’s brutal.
Keep writing those letters though. I tell myself that even if she never reads them, they’re proof that someone loved her every single day she was gone.