My dearest Aoibh
On Sunday your Dad and I gathered with family to mark that it has been just over a month since you left us. I didn’t expect to find it as tough as I did. I think it just brought me right back to that moment, being in the same chapel, surrounded by the same love of family and friends, listening to the same wonderful priest speak your name.
It always takes me by surprise when I think back on our time with you and new memories pop into my mind, I can’t believe a life so short could yield so many precious memories. There are definitely ones that I would prefer to forget, such as when your Dad and I were first told just how ill you were and the likelihood of having to make extremely tough decisions in the days ahead was high, or being woken from our sleep to be told that we needed to be with you as the end was near.
Thinking about it now I don’t think I would erase those memories as they are also an important part of your story. Even in those darkest moments you gave us gifts. It’s not every baby that has their christening at 2am in the morning, and that for me made it even more special.
You even gave us the gift of time. You gave your father and I time to hold you, kiss you and tell you how much we loved you, and when I thought I was going to collapse with exhaustion but did not want to leave your side you seemed to make the decision that you were not ready to leave us yet. I watched your monitors as your stats seemed to stabilise and we were told by the staff that it would be ok to go and rest. I really feel, stupid as it may sound, that you allowed us a brief moment to sleep (restless as it was) as you knew that we would need all our strength for the coming days.
That rest allowed me to be strong when I watched your monitors once more as those vital numbers got lower and lower. That rest allowed me to listen to the information given to me by lots of professionals and understand what was to come in the next few hours, and that rest allowed me to hold you tight in my arms as the doctor and nurse ever so gently turned off each machine in turn and I had the gift of holding you as you quietly fell asleep in my arms.
I look back at the many many photos taken during our time together and I can almost feel the warmth of your body, hear each of the monitors beep around you and can see exactly where I was when each photo was taken.
I feel like I am now moving into yet another stage of my grief. The pain of losing you is not as acute or intense as it was but with that I now fear that in time those memories that are so real to me as I write this will start to disappear. I’m not sure what I can do to stop that from happening, and maybe in time some of those memories will fade, but I promise that regardless of what happens I will never forget how much love and light you brought with you into the world, and the many people you touched during a life so short.
Forever yours
Mum xx
Dear Aoibh 