Missing You

7 weeks ago you completed our family. 4 weeks ago you left us.

In the early hours of the morning, the quiet at 3am, when sleep evades me, I see us watching your consultant try and keep your tiny heart beating.

I can see the scrubbed up nurses and doctors stood around the cot that I sat by and read to you, where we held your tiny hand and told you stories of the home we so desperately wanted to take you to. The place we watched you beat the odds and the place we saw you struggling. A place that was both the most terrifying and comforting place to be. I always said that I only felt at peace when I was with you, I won’t ever feel like that again.

When the world sleeps, I hear the lead nurse telling us that this is the last chance, that they don’t think they’re going to win this one. I feel your dad beside me, neither of us breathing while we watch them lose you.

I will never forget your consultant putting her hand on your dad’s shoulder, telling us you were still with us and we should go to you. The nurses who had fought for you, cared for you, looked after us all so wonderfully, pulling up a chair, sitting me down and placing you on my arms for the first time in almost two weeks. You are the most amazing thing my arms have ever held. I can still see them taking out your ventilator, your feeding tube. I wanted to scream at them to stop, that you’d be hungry, but I couldn’t stop staring at your perfect face. You were so peaceful. We hadn’t seen you without any tubes since you were almost a week old, we’d missed it. You’d changed so much.

Being able to stand up and hand you into the safest place in the world, your daddies arms, for the first time was a moment I’d been waiting for, I just never imagined it was so he could say goodbye.

I see it all. I re-live it. I’m a spectator silently screaming and begging for the scene to change. I wish I could have saved you, my perfect little boy, I wish I could rewrite your story. You deserved the world.

One day I know we’ll be able to sit and talk about you without the raw pain, but for now I will sit and cry and shout at the pure unfairness of the world.

Sweet dreams, our little Sprout. We love you 3000.