Luff Yoooo

He said it.

We were laying on the floor, rolling around being silly together. My little one year old boy. My healing baby.

He was giggling. I was giggling, He gave me a cuddle and then…..

He said it.

“Luff Yoo.”

The words shot through me. My body absorbed each syllable. My soul instantly warmed.

He really said it.

“Luff Yoo.”

I paused and let it sink in.

Rejoicing in the moment.

A moment I thought I’d been waiting for.

A moment I thought I’d been missing.

“Luff Yoo.”

In that brief moment, in my exhilaration of hearing those words, I felt my mind naturally divert;

She’s never told me that she loves me.

There was a sinking feeling.

Albie kissed me on the lips and we carried on playing. The pause was brief, but – to me – the complex field of emotions I experienced in that tiny moment, meant it felt like forever.

“I love you too,” I smiled and gave him the biggest squeeze.

Later that evening, I reflected. I reflected on my joy but also my sadness.

I often feel frustrated with myself that – as much as I try to resist it – most firsts for Albie, have always somehow been overshadowed by my deep mourning for those moments that we haven’t had with Louisa. Even though I know we’ve had just as special other moments.

I often feel disappointed in myself that I can’t just separate the two emotions. That I can’t let go of the ‘what ifs’. That I can’t let go of the grief.

But yet, this time it felt different. I quickly reminded myself:

He said the words. But he has been telling me he loves me from the moment he was born.

She’s never said the words. But she has been telling me she loves me from the moment she was born.

And that’s it. That’s everything. She has told me she loves me. Of course she has.

My focus on language has been so intense over the years. I’ve been desperate to hear Louisa speak. My heart has broken as the few sounds she made slowly reduced and disappeared. I think the loss of noise – for me- has been one of the most painful parts of parenting Louisa.

We now have a hum. This hum describes her pain, her frustration and her upset. But her laugh describes her joy and her happiness. I love her laugh.

Truthfully, I don’t expect words in the future. I’ve come to accept that will probably never happen. I’ve grieved it. I continue to grieve it. I don’t need people to say it may happen because where I am now – I don’t care for words for Louisa, if that’s not her path I accept it. Just like I accept everything about her imperfect perfection.

Love doesn’t need words.

But I will always care for communication.

Communication is everything.

I hate when she can’t tell me what’s wrong. I panic that I have to put my trust in so many people because Louisa will never be able to explain to me if she has been mistreated.

Communication is everything.

But communication comes in so many forms. Spoken language is just one of those forms. We have a long way to go to try and find what works for Louisa. But it is a journey I want us to embrace. We will find her voice – it may just look and sound different to my original expectations. And that sums up this beautiful, unexpected life with our precious girl.

When Albie told me he loved me. I thought it would fill a hole. I thought it would heal the sadness of those lost words with Louisa. I had been yearning for those words for years.

But instead, it reminded me that Louisa tells me every single day that she loves me. Every look, every touch of my hand, every cuddle, every squeeze, every nuzzle of her head into my lap. The way she trusts me beyond all else.

Love doesn’t need words.

She. Tells. Me. Every. Single. Day.

And I hope she feels my love for her every single day too.

“Luff yooooo.”

Those words.

They mean everything….. but also nothing at all.