I’m so so sorry mummy couldn’t save you

I don’t ever know where to start sweetheart. It’s been three years. Three whole years that we’ve had to live without each other. Three whole years since I last held your warm, squishy, strawberry scented little self in my arms. Three whole years since I got to whisper ‘I love you’ in your ear. Three whole years. How is that even possible, how have I managed? Simply, I don’t know.

The first year without you was complete and utter turmoil, total and complete devastation. My mind was like living inside a tornado, I was picked up and thrown around at the mercy of my thoughts. It was relentless. Last year I begun to find my feet. Sometimes I was able to put my feet on the ground and feel stable, sometimes I was able to communicate, willingly. I was learning. Learning how to live with your daddy, as two. Not three anymore. We didn’t choose that, we didn’t want that. A complete and total loss of control. I don’t like having no control. Last year I learned to go with the flow. Knowing that I was not able to swim against the riptide of grief, I had to close my eyes, turn on my back and wait for it to set me down again. This year has been strange; ‘living’ has been slightly easier, perhaps because your little brother has given us an injection of life again. He has given us hope, a future, he was one of the greatest gifts you ever gave us. But missing you has got so much harder. I find myself crying more often, I am often sad, not just for myself but for you. I often think about giving up and retreating, I think more often about the injustice of your death, your treatment and how cruelly your life was taken away. I’m struggling quite a bit at the minute, but I know that for every step I take, it is one step closer to you. I think that because the better days have become easier to bear, it makes the bad days even worse. It is like being on an awful roller-coaster that sometimes gets stuck, I have no choice but to ride it out.

I can’t remember what life was like before you were born. It seems like it was a different life. It was a life that I thought I was happy in, content with my lot. I couldn’t have imagined how wrong I was. When you were born you showed me what really mattered. I can remember watching you sleep, feeling utterly in love. A feeling that is difficult to articulate. You were part of me, I was you and you were me. You taught me a love that I didn’t know existed. You are woven into the fabric of my soul. When you died, I didn’t know what to do. How would I love again? How would I ever smile again, laugh, be happy? Life was constantly referred to as ‘before William was born’ and ‘after William died’ like our life had somehow been truncated and completely fractured.

 

Then you gave us Arthur. I was worried, more than worried. What would happen if I didn’t love him like I love you? What happened if I resented him, because he wasn’t you? But you knew. You knew I could be a mummy to two little people, you knew just what mummy needed, like your little brother, you heal my broken heart. I feel incredibly sad that I will never feel complete again, that wholesome feeling that cannot be bought.

You have taught me so much William. You have taught me complete kindness, you have taught me to be compassionate always, to be patient, to love fiercely, you have taught me that no matter where I go, you are with me always, I know that you are mine, and death cannot take that away from me. I cannot even begin to describe how proud I am of you. You graced this Earth for just 382 days, but you changed everything so profoundly. Your love feeds my determination, enables me to live, helps me to put one foot in front of the other,  gives me the strength to somehow fight to try to stop others from meeting your fate. Your love has changed so much, changed so many people, saved so many lives. I know you live on in the hearts of the many thousands of lives you have saved.

But you are not here and I just want you. I want nothing more than to hold you one last time. Forever is a long time. I know that you are just one breath away, one heartbeat, but I don’t know when I will take that breath and wake up with you. I wish I did. I wish I could put a big cross through every day, knowing that I was counting down. What I would give to make eye contact with you once more, to rub my cheek on yours, to feel you in my arms once more. My arms ache for you. They are heavy, my heart is heavy, my head is heavy. The living might get easier but the longing gets so much harder.

I remember the last time I ever held you, before I placed you in your forever bed and closed the lid, I kissed your forehead, I ran my fingers through your hair, I kissed your lips and I rubbed my cheek on yours, and I said “I’m so so sorry mummy couldn’t save you.” This hurts me, physically hurts me. I would do anything for you, and Arthur, give you both all you need, physically, emotionally and mentally, but the one thing I couldn’t do was make you better. I tried so hard to get you the help you needed, despite the apologies for your care, you’re still my responsibility and your life is in my hands. I failed you in the worst way possible. I let you down when you so desperately needed me the most. I tried so so hard.

I love you darling boy. You know. I told you always, I showed you always, they were the last words you ever heard me whisper, “Goodnight sweetheart, I love you.” You knew only love but three years on, the words that still sting me every single day “I’m so so sorry mummy couldn’t save you.”


www.justgiving.com/williamoscarmead

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10 thoughts on “I’m so so sorry mummy couldn’t save you

  1. How incredible you are. You always write with such feeling and love. I am crying for your pain and loss. I send a circle of love to protect you and your loved ones especially Arthur✨🦋❤️

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I weep for you all. I don’t know how you do it. I read your posts and just cry. You are so so brave and I thank you and William for making more people aware, including me, of sepsis. I can’t comprehend what you are going through on a daily basis. You are one strong mummy. xx

    Liked by 1 person

  3. IT made me cry. I hurt for you and for myself. Yours was a child, mine a foetus. My loss was 29 years ago with a rainbow baby following and 2 older sisters but the memories are still there, the longing, the wishing I had all my children. I believe in God and that it was his choice that my foetus didn’t stay. One day I will see my baby again. Until then I love and live with my living children, their children, my grandchildren and am happy. Look to the future, live for the moment and at the end of time you will be reunion with your child who always knows he is loved, thought about and included in what you do.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. This is so beautifully written. You are an incredible mother! He was so fortunate to have YOU as the one who enjoyed each and every second… your strength is an encouragement to us all!!! Thank you💞 I wanted to share this, you said you desire to feel whole again. God is going to give you back the gift of your son. He promises to. I hope this link will bring you even the smallest measure of peace. Nothing and no one can take the pain away, but God Can And Will… not only give you your son back, but he’ll also fill the void that this pain has left in your heart.

    https://www.jw.org/en/publications/magazines/wp20090301/Does-God-Take-Children-to-Become-Angels-in-Heaven/#?insight%5Bsearch_id%5D=312c6b3c-e678-40f7-a50e-fa244890820c&insight%5Bsearch_result_index%5D=0

    I will keep you in my prayers! Thank you for sharing your most precious memories. Because of you he will never be forgotten! Sending Love, hugs and flowing tears.
    You’re incredible

    Liked by 1 person

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