In the hospital where I have birth to my sleeping Angel, the midwife brought me a memory box, beauitiful white, small with a little butterfly on it. (In a way I know some hospitals don’t do this, so in a way I do count myself lucky to have memories of my boy.)
When I opened it, there it was, my beauitiful sons hand and foot prints on a small sheet of card, a small knitted hat & teddy, his hospital tags and a certificate of birth and a few other keepsakes. My heart crumbled
How on earth do I try to understand that 6-7 hours ago I had my healthy growing baby inside of me – and now, well now I’m left with a memory box? I didn’t care about any of that.
I wanted to feed my son, help him learn, see him open his beauitiful eyes, hear his first cry, what even about his first steps? Or how he would look when he’s 1,2,3,4,5….. it was all taken from me and there was absolutely nothing I could do to make it better he was gone and I had a memory box to look at when I felt lonely. Why me? I still don’t understand, I’d love someone to answer that question but no1 can.
When leaving the hospital I was numb, trying to make sense of everything that happened, leaving without my baby, what about my due date on the 22nd may? That’s not even a date for me now, I just felt everything I went threw was for NOTHING. My bump was gone, I was sore, my boobs where leaking & I was still feeling my baby kicking inside of me, the hard thing to realise is there’s nothing kicking me, it’s all in my head he’s not there no more, there’s no baby anymore.
The midwife said they will be in contact within the week for me to travel to the crematorium to collect thee ashes. Now just to wait on that dreaded phone call.