This love story began before Mia was born, intensified when she entered our lives, and it will continue to burn strongly forever. Mia is my red-headed flame, my sweet pea, my noisy sprite. Mia is joy, she is love, she is every good thing you can imagine. And I am so incredibly proud to be her mummy.
Yet she is gone. Mia died totally unexpectedly last October at the age of 13 months. Impossible, but true.
We miss Mia?s cuddles, her weight and her little legs curled around us, her face against our cheeks and her warm arms around our necks, the soothing pats on the back that she would give us as we in turn patted her. She was intimate, coming to us, arms raised, for a reassuring cuddle, but then with a smile, content she would wiggle free, independent and inquisitive about everything around her, exploring her world, looking in cupboards, peeking between the banisters as she climbed the stairs and just revelling in her existence.
I have tried to estimate how many times a day we kissed Mia. Picking her up, putting her down, dressing her, feeding her, washing her hands, just because? it must have been hundreds. Equally, we always made a point to tell Mia every day just how much we loved her. We know she listened.
I cannot begin to adequately describe the love that we have for our little girl. I can only ask you to imagine the most perfect feeling of love and warmth that you can, to double its intensity, and extend it to infinity and you are still not even close to the amount of love that we shared with Mia every second of the her 13 months.
This is her story, and mine, and my reality.