Dearest William…

I hope you are ok? Mummy is missing you so much. Mummy is finding it so hard at the moment, it’s so hard to live without you. It has been 15 short months since you went to live in your new home. 15 months is longer than you lived for. 15 months isn’t very long in the context of a lifetime, well not mine at least. 15 months is long enough, what is 15 years going to feel like, or 50. I hope by then I’m with you. I hate this sweetheart I really do. I can’t remember the last time I was happy. The last time I really laughed so hard. I can’t remember the last time that I didn’t have a care in the world.

Losing you is the hardest fight that I will ever have to face, and it is a fight. The constant urge of wanting and needing to give in is prevalent. I am but one breath from being with you, but that feels like a lifetime away, well it is a lifetime. It is probably a good job that we don’t have on/off switches. I would have flicked that switch a long time ago, to end this part of my life in purgatory, and to spend the rest of my time, with you. Only with you. Well not just with you, but the two other little children, who sadly, mummy didn’t get to give birth to. See, you were so special, the little one that made it. I was honoured to share my birthday with you. You couldn’t get a more perfect gift than you.

You changed my life, you changed me as a person, you see I don’t think people realise quite how much. Before you arrived I had resigned myself to a life with no children. Growing up I was fiercely independent, I knew my mind and where I wanted to be. I grew up very quickly and left my childhood behind. Nanny and grandad worked so much, every day in fact, so I spent a lot of time with your great nanny, and auntie Joyce. But I learnt how to look after myself, I worked hard as soon as I was old enough, I did well at school, but I always did my own thing. I was the only one who really exerted control over me. When I was told at 11 years old that it was unlikely I would have my own children, I planned around it, I never grew up playing with dolls or talking about children. Even nanny and grandad didn’t think I was maternal at all, throughout my pregnancy I worried I wouldn’t be good enough, I worried that I wouldn’t know what to do, and I worried that I wouldn’t be a good mum. I remember being in labour and I said to daddy “what happens if I don’t love him, what happens if he doesn’t love me?” Daddy assured me that would never happen. Daddy was right (don’t tell him I said that), for once I have no problem standing on the tallest building and shouting, your daddy was right. My goodness I have never loved anyone or anything as much as I love you, and you loved me.

I knew how special you were, I knew then. I know now. I will always know. You were the one that allowed me to lessen the grip I held on myself, you allowed me to live with more freedom, allowing myself breathing space. You taught me there was more to life than working 24/7, you taught me that it didn’t matter if filing wasn’t done the moment the bills came through the door, you taught me that it didn’t matter if the washing didn’t get done, if the dinner wasn’t on the table at 6. I had spent the day encapsulated in our bubble of love. That is the power of love. A total force of nature. You taught me to be selfless, to be patient, to be compassionate, to love with no expectations. You taught me how to live. I owe my life to you. I owe everything to you. I gave you everything I have.

Being separated from you has ignited sheer desperation, a yearning and need that I cannot fulfill, manifesting itself as pain. The price I will pay for the rest of my life for loving you so much. That pain will only increase as the love intensifies and the ache in my arms becomes heavier. At the moment I’m not living peacefully, you probably know. You can probably see my struggle. The tears, the sleepless nights, the nightmares, flashbacks and hallucinations. You probably know that I’m not working. The visions of your broken little body now not just thoughts but tricks of my mind. I don’t like it. I can’t help it, your broken little body can appear on the windowsill as I’m sat in the office working, reflections in the mirror as I look at myself, or like the other night, I woke screaming, sweating, having had your little hand drop on mine, but not your plump, dimpled little hand that I used to hold but your stiff, cold hand, the entirely different hand that I saw after you had died. Why do I experience this, I don’t know. As much as I have experienced your waking moments, I also experienced your dying ones too. I experienced your death, and as much as your little life made the biggest impact on my life, your death did to. Your life happened, but so did your death.

What am I supposed to do without you? How am I supposed to live without you? All I want to do is come home, but I am ‘home’ but I’m not, my home is with you. We should have been making memories today, you would have been making me a card at nursery, you should have been here to see me open it, and help me eat my breakfast in bed that you and daddy made. We should have gone out and filled our day with more of those infectious smiles and laughed until our cheeks hurt, making memories. I should have heard you say ‘mummy I love you’ I should have been able to say, thank you sweetheart, I love you too. But I can’t, instead I’m sat in bed looking out of the window. I can see white smoke from the chimney across the road, make its way into the dark dusky sky, wishing I was a free spirit like the smoke, making its way into the atmosphere. I just want to be free again, but until we are together again, I know I never will be. I live everyday with the guilt, guilt that I couldn’t protect you, that somehow I didn’t do enough to save you. I hope you don’t blame mummy as much as she blames herself. The thought of letting you down, leaves me barely able to live with myself, but Daddy is doing his best to look after mummy’s broken soul.

William you allowed me to see life through different eyes, you allowed me to open my eyes and experience LIFE. William, you gave me love, a love that I didn’t know existed, you gave me love that was beyond my imagination. William, you made me a mummy, you made me your mummy, thank you. Thank you for picking me. It will always be you.

As another day draws to a close without you, another mother’s day without you, one more day closer to you. I look up to the night sky and like every other evening I say to you, goodnight sweetheart, I love you. Your mummy xxx




11 thoughts on “Dearest William…

  1. Aww, I thought of you during service this morning and said a little prayer for you and William. The time will come when you’ll get to be a mommy to your precious little boy again but perhaps lots of tiny boys and girls need you here at the moment. Your sheer hard work and determination to promote the fight against Sepsis over the last 15 months has and will mean that countless mommies will get to celebrate this day in the future, without having to endure the pain you’ve suffered. To all of those children, you will be the mommy they never met. You have become such an inspirational figure to me, the Least I can say is thank you for your posts because after the tears have dried, my life always seems a little bit better. Stay safe Melissa.

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  2. Dear Melissa,
    I have been following your blog for the past couple of weeks after seeing the tragic story of beautiful William on the news. Having just read your latest blog on Mother’s day, again I am reduced to tears. Your words and feelings are so heartfelt. I cannot imagine what you have went through or are going through now living life without William, but you are such a courageous lady and your fight for justice for William so that other parents do not have to go through the pain that you have gone through is truly commendable. I admire your courage so much. William would be so proud of you. Carry on your great work and I wish you all the best. With love and much admiration – Aileen xxx.

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  3. How my heart aches for you and the sadness you are living through. I admire the amazing things you have done in Williams name. I send a circle of love to help and protect you through your darkest times. Xx

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  4. I had to read this several times as the words blurred through my tears. I am not very good with words and there are simply none that seem enough. I have been thinking of you and William since first seeing your story on the news, but even more so today. Nothing will take away the pain of loosing, loving and missing William but I hope that in time your awful nightmares and flashbacks will lessen and you will be able to remember more of the happy times you spent together. The love of a mother for her child cannot even begin to be imagined until you have experienced it, to loose a child is unthinkabley cruel and heart breaking. The justice you have sought for William has proved what a fantastic mummy you are, to fight to stop other parents suffering proves what a fantastic person you are! I am so very sorry to hear that you also lost other children during pregnancy, William truly was a blessing. I wish I could grab him out of the photo and place him back in your arms where he belongs. I really do hope that someday you find a way to smile again and live your life with William in your heart whether that be in this life or the next xxxx sending you and Willian so much love

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  5. I have followed your tragic sad story since I saw beautiful William on sky news, I am amazed with your sheer determination to spread the word and to help other parents to be sepsis symptom aware even through your own pain and grief. I admire you deeply. Bless you Melissa. And to William, your mummy loves you so so much. Xx

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  6. Dear Melissa,
    I have no words to say that would make you feel whole again. All I can offer along with all the others who read your blog is continued support and, in my case, a mere fraction of understanding for the pain you have suffered. You are such a brave person for sharing your thoughts, you have instigated a pause in the operation of your government and its health care system and you have made me appreciate so much more, my family. Thank you so much. Sending you prayers and hugs. Meela

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  7. Such a heartfelt,heartbreaking post Melissa. I so wish I could take your pain away,but know that no one can.Guilt is part of the process of losing William,but deep in your heart,one day,you will realise you did everything you could for him,and in your grief you are carrying on,so strong,helping so many.Bless you,I wish I could take away your

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  8. Sending extra prayers for you today Melissa as I read your letter. I know that however low you are feeling, and as much as you feel alone with your unendurable load, I know you are not alone. The loving Creator sees your every tear. I hope in some small ways, you can feel that love from those around you and find the courage to breathe and take every next step. “We cannot fall beneath the arms of God. However low we fall, they are still underneath us.” William Penn (1644-1718)

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