My dearest Aoibh

As I write this I am waiting for the midwife to arrive to complete a check up on me. I can’t help but compare it to what I was doing this time exactly a week ago- waiting to attend your funeral.

They say that your world can change completely in a moment. I don’t think I really appreciated how true that is before now. As hard as I try I am not yet able to get my head around my new identity, the 32 year old woman who is grieving the loss of her 2 day old daughter.

These thoughts about my new identity make me think about the panic I experienced about my new identity before your birth. Was I ready to be a mum, how would I cope, were your father and I responsible enough to look after another human?! These questions and so many more that unfortunately I have not had the opportunity to answer. Maybe sleep deprivation would have made me a very grumpy mum, maybe I would have felt overwhelmed, maybe I would have been a relaxed mum who took it all in her stride… who knows.

I remember when the ambulance staff brought you past me in your incubator on your way to the children’s hospital. The staff told me to talk to you, but I didn’t know what to say. I remember thinking that I didn’t know how to talk to a new born baby, what words would be the right words? I was also conscious of this huge team of professionals standing around us observing how I was managing the situation, how I was coping as a new mum. As you left I again had a panic about my new identity, maybe I wasn’t up to the job of being the mum of such a special baby.

I know for sure that someone somewhere was praying for me to have the strength to face these fears head on, and when I was finally reunited with you I suddenly found my strength. I didn’t care about the doctors standing around me, I only knew for certain that my most important job as a mum was to make sure that you knew how much your father and I loved you.

My favourite memory, other than the moment that I first saw your face, was the moment that, despite all the sedation medication that you were on, I kissed your chest and for a brief moment you opened your eyes and I felt like you were looking into my soul and reassuring me that all would be ok. I will cherish that memory forever, and I hope that in my darkest days that memory will allow me to keep going and working towards a brighter day.

Someone said to me during your wake that you were so lucky because in your short life all you knew was love. I really hope that is true, and I promise to try and lead my life in a way that continues to show you every day how much you were, and always will be loved.

Forever yours

Mum xx

Dear Aoibh

I have become aware over the past week that during my journey through grief I am going to have to face a lot of firsts… first time I see your cousins again, first time I look through your baby clothes, first time I see work colleagues again, first time someone who doesn’t know your story asks me how my baby is etc etc.

Today I decided to face a few of these ‘firsts’ head on, namely to see your cousins, and also to look through your baby stuff.

Seeing your Rawdon cousins today, or atleast 3 of 4 of them, was as wonderful as I knew it would be. It was so lovely to spend time with them and have my mind taken off the loss of you for a brief moment in time. As I think back on it now I do feel sad. I feel sad that, although I know you will always be part of our family, your cousins will have no real memory of you, and I feel sad for you. I feel sad that you will not experience the absolute delight of playing with your cousins, of waking up in your grandparents house and having sausages and muffins with your granda at the kitchen island, or gathering together to celebrate birthdays. I am particularly sad that you will not get to meet your newest cousin who is due to arrive any day now. I know you would have been the best of friends and my heart aches that we as a family will not get to see that friendship blossom.

Although I am clear as to why I wanted to see your cousins today, I am less clear as to why I wanted to look through your baby clothes. I had planned to go to our house with your dad for a few hours and try to ignore your bedroom and I really thought I would not open that door. However I felt almost drawn to it, I had an overwhelming urge to see your pram and touch the clothes we bought for you. I touched every inch of the pram and I cried, and I took your clothes out of the wardrobe and I cried more. But weirdly after the tears I felt a little better. I know I will cry again when I next go into that room, and maybe a dozen times after that, but I am glad to have faced that ‘first’ head on.

Thank you for giving me the strength to get through today.

Forever yours

Mum xx

Today marks one week since you were taken from us, and one week and 2 days since you were born. In 9 days I feel that your father and I have lived a lifetime.

As you know my dearest Aoibh, on the 24th May 2018 we were told that you had a heart defect, Transposition of the Great Arteries. We were told that while you were still in the uterus you were strong and healthy. So, there was nothing else to do but go back to work and try and enjoy the rest of my pregnancy. We were reassured that the medical team had a plan- I would be induced and when you arrived heart surgery would be planned. We were told that it was a serious diagnosis, but one with lots of positive outcomes and the likelihood of you going on to live a normal life was high.

This information did reassure and I focused on enjoying the rest of my pregnancy. Nothing made me happier than talking to you on my way to work in the morning or watching my stomach move as you wriggled about inside. I particularly loved talking to your cousins about you.

I even pushed myself to buy stuff for you. We bought a pram, Moses basket and some beautiful clothes. It breaks my heart when I think I will not get to dress you in those clothes. You may have hated the ridiculous unicorn hoodie but I would have loved to see you in it!

Today I find myself not thinking about your passing, but of how I struggled on the lead up to your birth. I definitely was scared about what was to come and can remember saying that I would be happy if you could stay inside me forever. I don’t know if it was fear or some unconscious knowledge of what was to come, but I could not imagine the point when I would take you home. I couldn’t imagine you in your pram or Moses basket, and I didn’t nag your dad to sort the isofix for the car (and nagging, according to your father, is what I do best!). I hope you don’t think that we didn’t want to bring you home, we wanted it more than anything in the world, but I do think we were terrified of loving you too much too soon in case we got our hearts broken. As it turns out in the two days that you were alive we grew to love you more than anything in the world and our hearts have been shattered into a thousand pieces.

Maybe my heart and head are protecting me from thinking too much at the minute about how we went from your birth to your death in such a short period of time… that is probably a letter for another day

I love you to the moon and back, forever yours

Mum xx

Thanks for joining me!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton