It’s the 1st of October 2024, your 20th birthday, and you should be here with us, my beautiful son, to celebrate. As we have done the past two years on your birthday without you, your brother and I will light the candles on your birthday cake, sing to you, talk about you, and shed happy and sad tears in equal measure.

20 years ago today, you made me a mother. You should be here still.

Today, your brother and I are moving back to County Wexford. It seems somehow fitting that it happens to be on your birthday when we return to the county where you spent your last five years of life…and where we said goodbye to you on that unimaginably painful and traumatic day in 2022. The time between now and then has been filled with such uncertainty, moving here and there and here again, breaking down, being lost, and making bad decisions amongst all the pain and confusion.

I’ve sadly discovered that most people don’t understand and thus can’t empathise with the trauma of losing you and just how deeply it has affected me since.

People don’t or can’t comprehend what it is like to have fought so desperately hard to keep you alive and healthy every single day for nearly 18 years, only to see you waste away before my very eyes.

It shattered my spirit.

I am indeed my own worst critic, frequently filled with disappointment in myself, but it’s obvious that some others share that disappointment in me, too, because when I’ve reached out for help or even simple compassion in recent months, it’s been refused. “You always land on your feet, Tracy” and “You’ll figure it out somehow” are repeatedly heard. Then at other times I’ve been met with complete silence, which honestly feels even more dismissive than directly being refused help or a compassionate ear. The sad irony of all of that is it results in me feeling even more alone, more lost, and even more resigned to the feelings that often overwhelm me.

Breakdowns come in many forms I’ve learned.
2024 has demonstrated mine.
…I say as if anyone was actually listening.

But alas, here we are at today. Your 20th birthday, my sweet, precious, beautiful angel boy. I close my eyes and focus on that handsome face of yours with the beaming smile and eyes full of love and joy. It gives me moments of peace.

I will never forget the moment you were born and the doctor said “You have a boy!” I will never forget that first look, that first kiss, our first snuggle.

I will never forget that last look, that last kiss, our last snuggle.

And I pray that I never forget all of the countless cherished looks and kisses and snuggles over your 17 years, 7 months, and 17 days on this earth with me.

Happy 20th birthday in Heaven, Brendan Bjørn. Thank you for the gift that was you for the years I was blessed to have you with me. How desperately I wish you were still by my side! I hope and pray that you and the angels are celebrating this very special day when you first came into my arms, just as your brother and I will be celebrating it with you lovingly in our hearts.

I love you baby with all that I am, always and forever.