Todays prompt is colour.
I think of lots of colours when I think of Emmet.
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I imagined them first as a tiny soul, with colours like a pulsing sunset. Pink, blue, orange, grey. I was hopeful, scared but joyful.
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I imagined their tiny feet in yellow and blue, and stitched them carefull, putting them away as a hopeful promise for the future, never imagining in my naivety that that day wouldn’t come.
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I imagined them later in a little hat, tormented by yellow and green, the little eyes of a spiked
Hopelessly I bought that hat, with it’s mocking sweet eyes. Put it away as a hope for the future. Paired it with such little things as reminded me of them. It seems so foolish. Buying things like that, but there was something healing in it.
I know I don’t need too anymore, but I did then. Desperately clutching at anything that was the briefest link, real or imagined to what I had lost.
I needed something tangible to hold.
Source Survivingmiscarrigetogether
Pink, white, grey, orange, blue, yellow, green. The colours of hope, of love and grief, of my pain and joy.
I don’t know that if we ever achieve that seemingly far away dream of another child, if perhaps they will wear them, or if they will always remain in Emmet’s memory box, but either way they will come with me from pillar to post.
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The two stuffed toys I had been bought previously. The rabbit was a gift from my sister when she had my nephew, it was a favorite of mine when I was little, and as such I had destined it in my mind for any child I may have. The cat was from my Grandma, who gave one each to me and my two female cousins. They are collectible, with poseable joints, the idea being we passed them on.
(It is normal to give gifts in my family that are intended to be used by more than one generation. I have carved wooded rattles from my Grandpa and Great Uncle that were given to me with that same purpose.)
The jumper I have used as a knitting pattern for gifts for others. The top I bought because it said ‘I am your little star’ and my grandad told me folk stories of how the stars were the hearth fires of the dead, come home to those they had lost. I now know the stars are part of a complex solar system, and some of the magic has faded, but none the less I remembered the story.
I was actually given the top at less than half price (I paid 10p) by my boss at work, because I told her the star story as we sorted clothes to stock, and she told me to put it away for the future, which I have. She’s strange but wonderful. The shoes you know about already.
The stone is a gift from my partner. We each have one that reads Cherish. We bought one each on the same day out that we took our ‘family photo’ and planned to swap them at christmas as a sort of good luch charm for the future. This one will go in the garden whenever we have one of our own, my partners sits on his mantlepiece.
Surviving Miscarriage Together 