At first –
You were a twinkle in my and your daddy’s eyes.
When we saw the two blue lines –
You were a joy we loved and treasured from the very beginning.
When you were in my belly –
You would kick me as I sang Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star
Then you were born –
You were to us as the sun is to Earth, a star brightening up our lives.
During your life –
You were like a supernova, radiating as much energy as any star – or other living being – could hope to emit in a lifetime.
But, like a supernova that brilliant energy is too brief, far too brief. It explodes, and it disappears from the galaxy. Physically, at least.
When you had to go –
It was like being sucked in to a black hole. All joy, pleasure, hope extinguished. No hope of escape.
It was like being sucked into a wormhole. Transported to a parallel universe. A universe where everything was inside out, back to front. All wrong.
But you are not completely like a supernova, Hugo. ‘Simple physics’ is an oxymoron that can be applied you too. Your energy defies explanation.
Your star shines so brightly, your energy so fierce that while your physical presence is no longer with us your legacy can never die.
You are with us all the time, Hugo. In my heart, in my mind, in my determination to have climbed out of that black hole, and to resist its strong magnetic pull.
You are with us all the time, Hugo. In your legacy, in how people are caring differently for other families like us.
You are with us all the time, Hugo. In the flowers, in the birds, in the bees, in the sunshine.
In the stars I find everywhere.
You are with us all the time, Hugo. But not in my arms, where I want you to be the most.
I love you all the way to the moon (which is made of cheese and you get to in a spaceship) a million times and back. And that’s a lot.
I miss you even more than all the stars in the sky.