Friday, 14 May 2010
For your birthday, I made coconut ice for some of the people who loved you. I put it in a little origami paper box that I made, and wrapped it in bubble wrap and posted it to them.
It had a little note in it which read
" In memory of Maya, who would be four
and for all the others we have held in our hearts and hope"
And I am sorry that you have to carry all that weight. That somehow, the death of other little tiny sparks of hope get hitched onto your death. That your death becomes more than your death, it becomes a symbol for all the little deaths, and eventually, the death of hope.
It is not fair of me to put this on you. But I am so sorrowful and I don't know where to put all these other little deaths. They break my heart too, just as your leaving did, but they go so silently, and unmarked. I want them known too, at least a little. So I let them hitch a ride with you. And I let others use your name as a short hand way of expressing all the grief and pain of these four years. I do it myself sometimes. I can barely tell where one sorrow ends and the others start.
But I am sorry for this. Because, it's not yours to bear. It swamps the memory of your sweetness, as if all you ever brought to us was sorrow, when in fact, what you brought was joy.
So I made coconut ice. It seemed fitting for a four year old girl, or the idea of such. Pink and sweet, a little old fashioned, nostalgic, a taste of childhood.
I will be dreaming of you this birthday. Aching, when I wake and loose you again.
I love you.
Love your mum