Do you know what it’s like, what it’s like to lose your child, the one person that is dependent on you, and for whom your existence depends on? Do you know what it feels like to wake wondering if by the end of the day the burden of emotions will weigh lighter, not just on your shoulders but on your soul? Do you know what it feels like to know that you will never feel ‘normal’ again? Do you know what it feels like to know that for every step you take, you will never again be complete? The most important piece of my jigsaw, forever missing.

Do you know how hard it is to love someone so fiercely, but to know that love can never be expressed to that person? Do you know what it’s like to be able to look at your children, see their smile, hear their laugh and sooth their tears, I don’t. Do you know what it’s like knowing your child only exists in your memory? Do you know it’s those memories that ensure I lay frozen in the same position, fear, flashbacks and nightmares making you re-live that moment, the moment you tried so hard pump life back into your child. Do you know the determination it takes after 7 hours of that nightmare to get dressed and go to work.

Do you know what it’s like to lose a child to sepsis? Do you know what it’s like to be told, your child should have survived. Do you know how hard it is to live with myself knowing that despite everything I did, I could not protect my child? Do you know what it’s like going to bed every evening knowing that there are millions of other people just like us, who also cannot protect themselves against sepsis, because they do not have the information to do so? Do you know the force it takes for me not to break during every interview? Do you know what it’s like to have to answer questions about your child in the past tense? Do you know the anguish I face to sit in front of the one person in this country that can ensure that other families do not suffer our life sentence, but have little control in the decision. I don’t know what it is like to be in that position, but what I do know is that I don’t want you, or any other parent to have lost their child, or any child to be left without a parent from sepsis.

What you do know is that sepsis affects 150,000 people annually in the UK, what you do know is that of those, 44,000 will die. Every day 120 of those are adults, leaving children behind to grow up without their mummy or daddy, and 4 children whose parents are left in incomprehensible pain. What you do know is that one-third of those deaths are preventable. What you do know is that a large majority if treated sooner, would recover with less life limiting illnesses. What you do know is that “the time has come for sepsis”.

Do you know how hard it is to know those you trusted the most, let you down in a catastrophic way? Do you know that despite this, we somehow channel our grief into a campaign so that others don’t suffer the same debilitating pain that we do? Do you know that at the end of every day we do not blame anyone else but ourselves for somehow failing to keep our child alive? Do you know how many other parents there are out there who have had to say goodbye? Do you know how many children there are growing up without a parent? Do you know what it’s like for their family to tell them that their mummy or daddy won’t be coming home? The frustration I as a parent have to live with, being so close to our end goal but fearing it is so far away. Do you know how hard it is to think that my child’s death wasn’t enough to create change, evolution and a lasting legacy? What will your achilly’s heel be? When will enough be enough? When will you realise that you hold the answers in the palm of your hand, right in front of you. How many more children have to die, how many more mothers and fathers, grandparents and friends have to die before you realise that sepsis does not discriminate. Did you know that thanks to the symptoms being televised during one of my interviews a young mother’s life was saved. Her two week old son will now grow up with his mummy. This is about everyone. Adults, children and sepsis.

This life has been thrust upon me forcibly, in one single moment that took my breath away; and from that moment on every single breath has been a fight. A constant battle against myself. Do you know that I have no strength, no courage, no bravery, nothing but love.

Choice was taken away from me by sepsis; but you still have a choice. A choice and a chance to do the right thing. Please don’t make me continue to fight when I simply don’t have the strength to do so.

You know that we were let down; you know that William was let down with the most tragic circumstances. Don’t let us down again. So many lives depend on your decision. Make it the right one. Stand by your word that “we can raise public awareness of sepsis both in children and adults.”

See you Wednesday.

Melissa