The boy that wasn't meant to stay.

My body always feels it before my brain thinks of it. Not fit. Brainfog. Introverted. It comes with the weather, the smell of nature, the daylight, all connected to these days...

The days in which I gave birth to our beautiful son Klaas, and the dreadful 46 hours that followed.

He did not make it. He couldn't.

And it was ok for him. For the better. At some point the point of no return had been crossed.

He was so very much wanted. He was (is!) so much loved. He was the most beautiful boy I had ever seen. But he is not here.

Instead of taking our boy home to nurture and feed him, we went home with a little casket. Had to choose a little grave and rewrite our birth announcements. It was all so f*cking wrong and painful. Surreal. The shock was too big to grasp. How can a big and strong boy like him die???

I was so empty (literally) and wounded. I still am in a way. It was deeply traumatic to be a woman who just gave birth and to have empty arms. Overflowing with milk. An open end and an open wound. (Literally, the tight scar above my pelvis is a daily reminder of that). Sometimes this part rears it's ugly head.

Something died inside of me those days in 2012. And an even bigger part ignited.

Since that day I have not been the same. I couldn't care less about everyday fuss anymore. Superficiality. Small talk. People trying to reign over me or my family. Keep it out of my sight, for your own safety.

Those days, and the period that followed, forged me into carbon steel. Dragon mode activated.

Have I lost my ability to love?

No way. It has grown. Exponentially.

I am not afraid to love and lose. Been there, done that. Lived to tell.

When you have survived your worst nightmare, it has in some twisted ways some very empowering side-effects.

So my son became my secret superpower.

My spiritual backup team.

The person I spoke to deep in the night, when the whole world was dark and quiet.

My highway to intuitive strength.

My kick in the butt to grow and evolve.

Our guardian angel. Watching over my loved ones, making sure the sun shines on our birthdays, sending little sparrows everywhere we go, and making sure we find a good parking spot wherever we go.

Works. Every. Time.

This year, it has been 14 years already. He would have been a big guy by now probably. Same dark hair and sturdy build as my husband and his little brother. Sometimes I still dream about what he would have been like. How it would have been with an extra man in our family.

It becomes a little less raw and painful with each passing year. It does.

I had quite the revelation recently. About the fact that I somehow needed Klaasje to guide me to the 'celestial hotline'. To guide me to the awareness of us being our own little spark of god, living a human life in a human body on earth.

I am not a religious woman. Never was and never will be. I do however have a very strong belief and knowing of god. Not as a being or a person. But as a particle, a flame in all of us and everything around us.

And the whole Klaasje saga has propelled me on that path. I was not talking to him all that time. It was my flame connecting with his flame, and all the little flames around us. Doing a practice run for now.

This past year I have decided to put these superpowers to an extra good use, building my life even more around it.

It feels right.

But not these days. These days we do our little spring hibernation.

Me, writing down my yearly musings on the topic. Us as a family, not working, going to school or doing other mundane chores, but spending time with each other. Visiting his little grave and the city we lived in. Our own traditions.

There is so much beauty in hugging each other's warm bodies. So much love and gratitude. Appreciating and celebrating life. Klaasjes short life and our own lifes.

It is always a good time for cake.

This is part of my story. But I keep rewriting the script with every new day I have the gift of being alive.

Love, Annemarijn