Saturday and other days......

 On a Saturday, two days after he was born, my Husband decided he needed to go into work. What I think he actually needed was to get away from the intensity of grief. We all grieve differently and given what had happened in the first year of our marriage we were hardly likely to sit holding hands for long. I understood and accepted that we would travel the road ahead separately, physiologically at least. Saturday I had my Son with me all day. It is one of the most precious memories I have. In that day I explored how it felt to be his Mom. I filled the time we were alone together with a lifetime of love, I gazed endlessly at him, noticed his hand had set into the position of being held after hours of doing just that. I talked to him hour upon hour, cuddled in bed, dozed off and woke to find him still laying in my arms, still laying still.

And when Sunday rolled around I prayed I would find the courage to leave him and go home, I found myself looking down to see myself walking into a lift, outside again, past new Mothers with babies in carriers waiting to go home, looking out of the window of the car, arriving home, making tea, and going up to the bathroom to see the door of the nursery, the nursery where I had passed so many hours planning a life never to be lived, at least not with the child inside of me then, the door was closed. It was weeks before I could go in there again. A lot happened in slow motion after that. A Midwife asked me in the oddest way what I intended to do about what had happened. We eventually hired a lawyer to look into matters. We learned that my Son`s condition had been deteriorating in the days before his birth and even if I had been monitored more closely and he had been born earlier he may still have died or been born with many disabilities. And as their actions may not have changed the outcome the hospital was absolved of responsibility. While I still bleed from his birth I shopped for an outfit to have him buried in. I bought two so I could keep one forever. A Funeral was planned and I took tablets to ease my milk engorged breasts. My stitches were removed. My maternity leave started. And our family Dr gently told me that one day...eventually....the colour would begin to seep back in my world, I will always remember his kindness though at the time I doubted his words. 

Father Calling

My parents called us every few days to enquire how things were and a week or so before the funeral my Father decided it would be the appropriate thing to do to have a chat with my Son`s other Grand Father, so he called him. During the conversation my FIL, well aware of the relationship between them and myself, told him pointedly "Your daughter will need all your support now". My Father became defensive and replied in a perplexed tone that I had always had all of their support. Bless him, he then stood in my corner and politely told him That`s not how I have received it. I was never told much about the following exchange, but apparently my Father, by way of defence and proof of that support said We `kept` her until she was 16 years old. {What an utterly bizarre thing to bring up, as if he had done me a huge favour} To which my FIL replied And we kept our Son until then too, what on earth had that go to do with anything. {good point!} Father then tried to aid his defence by mentioning the tin of photos they had of me. Apparently a half filled tin of photos, of which 20 or so were of me, was proof of their life long support. Really ! No doubt after the call there was an angry debriefing by my Mother and any perceived offence may well have triggered a Narcissistic injury. After all here was proof that I had someone prepared to defend and protect me, which would of astonished and affronted her to say the least.