marieclaire.com.au (^) | 45
REPORTAGE
Dear Tor,
It’s nice to meet you. To really meet you.
In the first few months after you were
born, there wasn’t much in the way of
effective communication between us.
There were a lot of tears. You were
adjusting to a big, scary new world and
I also had my own demons to battle,
which offered a different set of mental
and physical challenges. You see, a few
days before you graced your dad and me
with your presence via the small window
on a pregnancy test, I’d been diagnosed
with leukaemia. So when I began the
long, slow process of healing myself
of this dreaded disease after your birth,
exhaustion, fatigue, bone pain and
skin problems often competed for your
attention. There were days when I felt
completely hopeless and overwhelmed.
But we got through it, and as the fog
lifted our bond grew stronger. There are
days when you light up my soul and
others you test me in more ways than I
thought possible. It doesn’t take much to
bring me back into joy, though: a kiss, a
heartfelt-yet-poorly articulated “sowwy”.
I want to store those moments, pack them
tightly in my heart where they can never
fade away. Some days I’m frozen in grief
over what may have been, had I made a
different choice. I can’t imagine a life
without your sweet giggles and gentle
hugs. Perhaps that’s why some mornings
I go into your room to watch you dream,
just to savour a few more moments of the
day with you. You’re already a little man,
and I dread the day when you no
longer want me to sing you to sleep.
I bristle when I hear them call you a
“miracle child”. Yes, you’re my miracle,
undoubtedly. But so is every mother’s
child. They are, we all are, born from
light and stardust. I’d call that miraculous.
ELLE HALLIWELL, JOURNALIST
WITH TOR
“I hope
at when y
gr up, y areciate
e awesene of wen”