The train.

Where we live now, we have a railway line through the property, probably just 500m or less from the house. It's a busy freight line. Maybe five or six trains a day go past.

You can see them from the house, though it's through a copse of trees.

Without being all that conscious of it, when I hear a train I get excited for Toby, saying "listen...!! Here comes a train!!"

And I scoop him up and go to where we can see it. Usually from our front verandah. I have a photo but apparently I can't upload it from iPad. Bugger.

He looks. And he smiles.

And if I am busy and don't react I see him stop what he's doing, and look in the direction that he hears the train.

We don't know the timetable, and they seem to come at different times.

So the other morning we were out hanging the washing early.  Toby was sitting in the pram.  And we heard the toot of a train approaching one of the crossings not far away. 

I saw Toby look in that direction, so I quickly grabbed the pram and ran.  Yes, that's a sight for sure.  I jogged and shuffled in my flip floppy round the house crocs, down the dirt road.  I could see the head light of the train in the distance. 

I managed to get probably 20 metres from the railway line.  Maybe closer.  I stopped, bent down and quickly unclipped Toby and picked him up.

And we waved.  He grinned.  The train gave a toot, as it approached the crossing in front of us.  Then the driver must have seen us so he gave a few more toots ending on a big, fun long one.

Toby had a grin from ear to ear.  We waved frantically.

And then I cried.  And cried.  And cried. 

Even writing this now, my bottom lip shakes.

Poor Toby.  Sometimes he must think his mummy is just a crack pot.

I looked at him, looking at the train, and then looking at his crying mummy, and I laughed and said excitedly, "it's a train...!!".

In my heart was an ache for the little boy who wasn't with me.

Because when I was pregnant with Ciaran, whenever we saw a train we would say "look bubby... there's a train", and talk about the time we would be able to show him for real.

And then he was born.  And he died. 

But still we said "look bubby... there's a train".  And we would cry.

:::

So, here I am.  So few yet so many years later.  Saying several times a day "Listen.  Look.  There's a train".  And the only thing I stop myself at, with a lump in my throat is "... bubby".