My darling son,
Today you have been gone for one whole year. It’s almost incomprehensible to me. I still wonder if I’ll just wake up to find it never really happened. You are the first thing I think of in the morning, and I look up from my pillow to see your photo staring back at me. I know then that this did really happen.
I also know this happened because you’re not here but all the baby stuff we bought you is. We wanted to sell our one bedroom flat before you were born, but this didn’t happen. I remember being so annoyed that I had no nursery for you. I had no idea how we would fit in all the things we needed for a newborn baby. The flat was crammed from floor to ceiling with everything you could have needed or wanted for the first year of your life. Coming back to the flat after losing you was so incredibly hard. I was so angry. Baby paraphernalia was everywhere. Your changing table with clothes freshly laundered was, and still is in our bedroom. Stuffed toys, nappies, bottles all stacked up in a cupboard in our living room. I still haven’t moved anything or opened those cupboards. It’s your stuff and I can’t get rid of it. If I’m honest it’s more to do with not being able to still acknowledge what we should have had together. In the first few days I couldn’t even bear to look at the scan photos I had stuck up on our fridge. I wasn’t angry at you, I was angry at God and life. I remember ripping them down from the fridge and placing them in a draw. I couldn’t face seeing anything that was a reminder of what was meant to be. A few days later reason found me and those scan images were back safely on the fridge. They are still there now.
I also know you aren’t here as we had a funeral. It was a blur really. I had nothing to say to anyone and I have hardly any recollection of who was even there. There was a huge turnout, and I do remember being touched that so many people cared. I remember a few snippets from the day. Daddy holding you as you was taken in to the church. The anger I felt as I stared at the altar where you lay. The song ‘You’ve got a friend’ being played. Crying. Lots of crying from people around us. So many people loved you, despite never having met you. You will forever be remembered by them.
The weeks after were a nightmare. Trying to do the simplest thing was a chore,
and having to talk to anyone seemed more effort than it was worth. Those friends and family who know me well
know I’m not a huge talker at the best of times. I literally had nothing to say to
anyone. I couldn’t imagine who would
want to hear what I was really thinking anyway.
I had been punished for being a bad person. I was guilty of killing you. I wished I wasn’t here. It was a very dark place to be, and even your
Daddy couldn’t pull me free from it. I
wanted to be with you. I couldn’t
understand how I survived but you didn’t.
I was the one who carried you so therefore it was my fault. I should be punished. I should be feeling this way. Your poor Daddy was blameless, and yet he was
suffering because of me. It took me a
long time to realise that this wasn’t just my fault; and that there was another
source to blame. The hospital you were
born at didn’t take what happened seriously.
If I had gone elsewhere you would have been delivered asap and would be
here right now. We know this from
enquiries. They are still going on but
we will get justice for you my son. We
will make sure that this never happens to any other family. The anger I feel is now directed at
them. It doesn’t go away, and the
suffering continues as a result, but we can’t walk away from it. I know you wouldn’t want us to. I do have some guilt that I will probably
carry through the rest of my life. It
was still ultimately my responsibility to keep you safe inside me and I
didn’t. I’m so sorry my darling. I will always be sorry.
We’re reminded of loosing you in simple ways too. Just walking down the street and seeing a
pregnant woman, or a mother with a buggy stings.
That should have been me. I have never resented anyone having a child,
even then. What I resent is being the mother who spends her maternity leave without her son. I am the mother every mother is glad not to
be. I am always going to be the mother
with the dead son. It’s not fair. Our lives have changed in so many ways, and so have the people in it. People you know change before your very eyes. No one knows what to say to you. No one knows what to do. It’s not always their fault, they just will never be able to understand. Those relationships you had come to rely on change. Some friendships have become a casualty of our loss. It’s so very sad and regretful.
However, there are others who stand firm and are there for you no matter what. There are also those who come in to your life who you least expected: people there to understand, to help, to listen and not judge. Certain friends and family become your life boat. They save you from sinking further in to the abyss and hold you up when you feel you are drowning. Those people I can never thank enough, and that they continue to hold our hands is a blessing.
I don’t think that I can find anything ‘good’ from loosing you, although it seems some want to believe that there is light within the eyes of tragedy. I have had many odd things said to me such as ‘At least you had a few days with him’ and ‘Look at the strong person you’ve become’; even ‘you are such an inspiration!’ I can honestly say your Mummy doesn’t agree with any of those statements. A few days when we should have had a lifetime together is not enough! I am neither strong nor inspirational. I have to get up in the morning. I have to attempt to go to work, see people, and go to counselling, do the food shopping... what would happen if I didn’t? Life goes on around us and we had no choice but to enter that world again. Daddy and I also have more difficult challenges such as fighting the hospital because if we don’t then what might happen to other families? Is that a good thing? Yes, I guess it is for those who may be saved, but more to the point, when would we ever find some sense of peace if we didn’t? You deserve peace. Daddy and I deserve peace. We may not have it yet but we will one day.
Daddy raises a lot of money in your memory for the wonderful team at the St.Thomas’ who cared for you. Yes, that is a good thing, but we would still rather have you. If anyone is an inspirational person it is your Daddy. He’s run a marathon, raised over £20,000 in your memory, and devotes much of his time to helping those who have lost children or have a child in a Neonatal unit. He sends messages to them via ‘Running for Isaac’ and inspired others to get involved too. Your Daddy is incredibly strong, but I know he would give up all of this just to spend five more minutes with you. So, no good has come from loosing you really. Maybe there have been a few lessons in not giving up, and helping others. Blessings in the way of the wonderful support and friendships we value. We see the generosity and goodness of spirit in people that we may not have recognised before. It’s such a shame that it took loosing you to see these things clearly.
A year ago our lives changed forever. It had been a long and very hard journey to accept what has happened to you, and I’m not even sure I still completely do. I do know that this journey is not at an end. I know there is more we will have to contend with. I also know that the pain of losing you will never go away. I can smile though now, especially when I think of you Isaac. I have learnt to appreciate even fleeting moments of happiness and laugh at silly jokes. I have learnt that our lives have not ended, even though it still feels that way sometimes. I’ve learnt these things because otherwise I would be letting you down. I have to somehow make you smile from up above and feel some pride in your Mummy. If I didn’t I wouldn’t be a very good Mummy, would I? A year is a long time to have lived without you. Some things have changed and moved on, but you are still forefront in my mind in everything I do. That’s because I will always be your Mummy, I just need to work a little harder at it than most for you to see that from where you are. I will always be your Mummy my darling son.
Until we meet again.
Love always,
Mummy. XxX
If you would like to make a donation in memory of Isaac, the
web address is: http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/fundraiser-web/fundraiser/showFundraiserPage.action?userUrl=runningforisaac&pageUrl=8
All donations go to the Neonatal Unit which is part of the
Evelina Children’s’ Hospital at St.Thomas’.
Thank you all for reading, your continued support and
understanding. I hope this series of
blogs has helped raise awareness of baby and child loss, as well as being a
fitting tribute to our beautiful son Isaac.
Heavenly kisses to all our angels,
Simone Mahmud-Smith
