My Baby Brother

Since I'm sick and can't go to school I've been browsing for new blogs and I just found this terribly sad, terribly beautiful blog. A mother writes letters to her baby son Noah who died 48 hours after his birth. They are seriously so heartbreaking. They remind me of my own baby brother who was still-born, Oliver. I remember that I didn't want him to be named Oliver, I preferred Alexander II, which was, in my opinion at that time, just perfect. After his funeral Mom made us write a letter or draw a picture for him so we could put it on his grave. I drew a girl in a garden with a dog and a house, and in each window there was a member of the family, except for Oliver, who was in the sun. I remember Alex (who was 5) ask Mom if it wasn't too lonely in the sun, because we were all here, on earth. She cried so much that day.
Mom laminated the pictures and and propped them up against Oliver's gravestone, but after a few days they got spoiled in the rain despite the plastic.
I still think of him sometimes, you know, about how he might look like, if I'd quarrel with him often and stuff. Because I promised myself I'd be the perfect sister for him while Mom was still pregnant with him. I used to be terrible for Alex and used to pinch him and stuff because I was awfully jealous (he used to get all the attention as the new baby, obviously). It's hard to adjust to things like that when you've been a single child for 3 years. But as an 8-year-old I could handle it, and I already planned my walks with him to the park, decided what toys of mine he was allowed to touch and which ones were sacred, everything. But I guess I never really understood that he was gone, you know, gone gone, until when I was 14. It just hit me. Maybe it was because I couldn't really miss him since I'd never known him, he was just something that was supposed to come into my life but never did, and that was that. Anyway, that was the first time I went to the graveyard on my own accord and actually "talked" to him. I watered the flowers, I threw away the wilted leaves, all the usual stuff, but it felt so much different when I did it for Oliver, not for the sake of aesthetics.
So yeah. That's the story of my baby brother.

xx /P

The first and last time I saw Oliver was in a box in hospital. He had lots of really dark hair and was wearing a baby blue romper. His skin was all blue and violet, it looked kinda weird, but somehow it wasn't repulsive or anything, it just looked... different.
I wonder what his eyes were like, since he never opened them.