Driving to the supermarket last week I had the overwhelming feeling that this baby is very much an addition to our family.  

To Ian and I’s family.

Although in no way is the baby a replacement for Ian, as the pregnancy progresses it feels like Ian is less distant now. There is a feeling of completeness, not end, not ‘over it’, but very much at peace.  

The sense of ‘our’ baby, ‘our’ family, ‘our’ boys is very, very strong.  

Talking to people after Ian died, when I found myself using ‘my’ son when talking about John or his needs I heard ‘Just me.  No one else.  I’m on my own’ every time I used the word ‘my’.  Whomever I was talking to probably heard the usual every day use – I’m not with an adult who’d be assumed to be Dad, so ‘my’ is grammatically correct – if Dad was with us at the time, she’d have probably used ‘our’.  

But that’s not what I heard in my head. In my head, the fact Ian wasn’t here was ringing with clanging bells -whether the listener knew Ian had died or not.

My/Our son is sick.

My/Our son lost an argument with the coffee table and has split his head open. 

We/I would like to send Our/My son to this school.

I don’t know if it’s the posthumous circumstances of the pregnancy, but I’m finding with respect to the baby, I’m using ‘our’ more where ‘my’ may be equally as logical.

And the bells aren’t clanging or even ringing quietly.