My dearest Isaac,
I’ve always been terrible at saying goodbyes, but to say
goodbye to you was the hardest thing I have ever had to do. Everyone says that losing a child is the most
tragic thing anyone will ever have to bear.
I can absolutely confirm that to be true. I have never felt such a sense of fear, panic
and utter heartbreak. Nothing on this
earth will ever seem so difficult or hard to cope with again. I just wasn’t ready. I loved you too much. I couldn’t imagine life without you. My life has changed to something I no longer
understand and it started with saying good bye on Wednesday 1st
August 2012.
You had a very difficult night on Tuesday. We knew that you didn’t have long left with
us, but we never imagined it would be so soon.
You were tired, so very tired. We
couldn’t let you suffer anymore and it was clear that you were. Yet, we couldn’t let you go and Wednesday morning
saw us back in the parents’ room trying to convince Dr Groves to find a way to
keep you going. Yet again, the poor man
was put in a no win situation. He said
he couldn’t let you suffer, and you were starting to. Ultimately it was his decision when to take your
life support away, but he needed us to understand that it would be today. He spoke in such a way that we couldn’t
ignore the situation any longer. How could
we let you suffer anymore my darling boy?
You were so tiny that the pain you were in must have been
unimaginable. We didn’t want that, we
couldn’t cope knowing you were hurting.
We resigned ourselves to what we were being told and a plan was put in
to place that would allow us to spend as much time with you as possible before
you were to leave us that afternoon.Our family had time with you Wednesday morning. The staff we’re amazing, and again gave us privacy by putting a screen up. Sister Sarah was looking after you that day, and her strength gave us the strength to keep going. The chaplain came to see you too and read Noah’s Ark to you. You would be going on a journey soon, like Noah, and we hoped that you would understand it wasn’t the end. We would follow you on your journey one day. After everyone else had said goodbye, you, Daddy and I spent the afternoon together. I spent most of that time kissing you, holding your hand, stoking every part of your body I could. I wanted to memorise how soft your skin felt. I had to remember, as I knew I wouldn’t be able to do this ever again. I told stories about all our friends and family, shared my secrets with you, and whispered I love you so many times I lost count. Daddy did the same. He soaked up every second and imprinted all those memories to mind. He looked so lost and broken. I wanted to tell your Daddy it would be okay. You were ready. You needed to rest. I said these things with as much courage as I could muster. Although I knew they were true, I had to force those words out of my mouth and say them with some sense of conviction. I knew that you had many people who we love to look after you in heaven. You Granddad Colin would be with you, your Great Granny Winnie would be making you laugh in no time, and my good friend Rachel would look after you and teach you all the thing I would have liked to. Yes, I knew you would be looked after, but how could I reassure Daddy that we would be okay? I knew we wouldn’t be, but I couldn’t bear seeing him look so destroyed. I just said it because I had to.
Then it was Daddy’s turn to comfort me and to give me the strength to say goodbye. We were taken to a side room with you. 30 minutes to say a final goodbye to you. No, I couldn’t do it. I panicked and begged Daddy to just let us grab you and run. Run away far from here and not look back. Take you away so this didn’t need to happen. I was desperate. Daddy somehow showed such courage and strength, and explained the reality of what would happen to you if we did just leave with you. You would be in pain and suffer. I couldn’t hurt you my darling boy and so calmed down. Only you and your Daddy could have given me the strength to go on.
What happened next I can’t write about, Isaac. You know already anyway. You know we had some special, private time together. I think about it every day, sometimes with anger that it had to happen, sometimes with sadness, but always with love.
Then you were gone.
We sat in that room for a long time. I could have sat there forever.
Over the last year, I’ve realised it wasn’t really
goodbye. I see you every day in simple
things. Your windmill spinning in your
garden. A butterfly. A rainbow.
There are a lot of little things that I think of as being signs that you
are still with us. You will always be
with us, and we with you. One day the
three of us will be together again. This
isn’t really goodbye.
Until then.
Love always,Mummy.
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