I Swear You Will Be Fine

Dear Josh,

You should be turning 22 next week. I’m well aware you didn’t plan this, but your birthday and the day you passed are 6 months apart. So it often feels like we’re just waiting for difficult reminders that you’re not here twice a year.

It’s fairly expected that your birthday is a tough day for us. I’m struggling with the fact that I don’t know what you look like now. Between 14-20, you changed so much. I think you’d still be going to the gym. And vain as ever. But did you dye your hair in heaven? Shalini told me you were planning to. Are you still wearing your Harry Potter glasses? Your pair here are sitting neatly folded on your desk. Did you end up getting your tattoo? Or did you get the version Shalini got too, with her bunnies? I think you would have gotten the latter.

Auntie M said to Mum that every parent who has lost a child’s biggest fear is that people will eventually forget them. And I think it hits more this year. Someone did say to me last year that with every year, this becomes more and more real. And sometimes it feels ridiculous. You were surrounded by people who had gone through more than most but didn’t complain. Shalini and Mum are prime examples. But so are you.

I think you realised how unfair life had been to you fairly young. However, within a few years, I think some part of you accepted that it was just how it is. And it was up to you to do what you wanted with it. So everything that was humanly in your control, you changed. You studied, lost weight, went for therapy and got yourself into Uni (with no exam qualifications, which is still baffling). I remember you calling to tell me. When I saw your name light up the screen, I knew you had something to tell me and racked my brain to work out what news we were awaiting. It was a very, very good phone call.

And yet, even with you doing everything you could, something got in the way. I still don’t know if it was God or life or extraterrestrial forces, but it wasn’t anything in your control. You did everything you possibly could. We know that. The fact that you dealt with all that and it wasn’t enough, and now there’s still the possibility people won’t think about you? It makes me nauseous, honestly.

Then I remember that more than 300 cupcakes have been ordered to commemorate your birthday. Not your 21st birthday, but your 22nd. And countless others who have donated to your foundation. Even from those who never knew you personally, but know us. And so really, they know you too. The signs you send me are different from what you send Mum and Shalini. They are fewer, but fairly large and obvious. Probably because you know I’m so blur, I’d miss them otherwise. If this is you telling me not to worry, that those who love you and us will continue to remember, grieve and love you with us, I get it. I’ve not missed this sign.

Miss you so, so much, Josh. I’ve got you a birthday card this year, but no presents so far. If you’d like anything, you need to make it obvious. If not, I’ll miss it. You know that.

Love,
Acca