“From the loss of a child there is no recovery. It becomes about living every day through the ever present ache of irreversible and devastating dislocation.”
So wrote Alastair Down in his brilliant article in the Racing Post following Mouse Morris’ win in the Aintree Grand National with “Rule the World” – I can empathise with this and its sentiment resonates within me sending a shiver through me as if transported back in time.
It was Easter Sunday, a time of expectation, giddy anticipation, and a time to daydream and visualise and above all, think of the future.
My wife was in her 38th week of pregnancy with identical twins- the news at first both delighted and frightened us in equal measure. We were about to increase our family from one to three and wondered what this would entail. We spoke of nothing else, laughed nervously about the night time feeds, the nappy changing, the taking for walks but above all marvelled about the wonders of nature that made this possible. We indeed felt very lucky.
There never was a time when we worried about their mortality even though identical twins do present problems for modern day medicine.
A mother’s intuition brought us to the maternity hospital, me reluctantly, thinking my wife was overly anxious and there was nothing to worry about; an hour later in the presence of midwives and consultants I looked for some smiles/nods of reassurance but there were none forthcoming. Then a consultant looked at me and said “The baby on the right is dead, the baby on the left is okay.”
It was said in that matter of fact tone to ensure there was no misunderstanding. It was to ensure that the records of the day were correct.
A wave of nausea washed over me like I had been hit be a giant wave, a tsunami of shock and one that was to change my life forever.
The words shook me to the core, uttered as if he was talking to me about the weather. My wife only partly heard and looked to me for clarification, her terror stricken face only adding to my shock. My silence told her all she needed to know. We were catapulted into a world over which we had no control, spinning around like a leaf in the wind, the cold hand of death hovering over us.
A couple of hours later our twins were born but not to the fanfare we envisaged nor could ever imagine. One was still born, the survivor we were advised was gravely ill and the following 24/48 hours were crucial to his survival.
All human emotion that in normal circumstances could only be encountered in a lifetime were crammed into the next 2 weeks – hope and despair, love and loathing, panic and courage, trepidation and heroism, dismay and distress.
The next two weeks were a blur, a human rollercoaster, as we coped with the loss of our son and the realisation that his little brother too was seriously ill. Days morphed into nights, as we struggled with our feelings and emotions. Small everyday worries were set aside as we battled with our plight.
Our families, neighbours and friends rallied round us, helping out in every way possible, displaying many selfless acts of kindness. It was truly phenomenal and their support was that which carried us through that terrible time.
Our sole focus now was on our surviving twin, but despite his brave fight, he lost the battle and died in my arms just under two weeks after his birth, on a warm sunny day in May as the birds chirped happily and flowers blossomed. The incongruity of how we were feeling compared to the outside world happily going about its business was never more stark.
We learned a lot about ourselves in that harrowing and distressing time and much about others too:
- We lost friends and made friends
- If somebody offers to do something for you, give them something to do – so many people feel the need to help yet not knowing what to do – having them perform some task, no matter how menial helps
- There are those who have something to say “ I am praying for you”, “I am sorry for your loss”, AND there are those who have to say something ( usually the wrong thing) ; unfortunately the latter group do not come with a sign or a placard so be prepared to be hurt and pained
- Take time to grieve – in our past, the bereaved often wore black clothes to signify they were in mourning, an unspoken request to be given space – now we attempt to microwave our feelings and move on – it does not work.
- Take time for your loved ones – everyone needs to feel loved and wanted
- Be compassionate – none of us know what others are going through
Time heals all wounds but it’s what we do with that time that matters – we are blessed with a further addition to our family who brings us much joy and happiness every day but the memory of our boys will never be diminished, they remain part of who we are and it should not be any other way.
“At the going down of the sun and in the morning, we will remember you.”
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