9 years ago my life changed overnight. I was no longer the person I used to be, but I was also not able to be the person I’d been imagining I would be.
On this day 9 years ago I became a Mummy, but my baby would never wake up.
I’d spent months preparing to meet him, his bedroom was ready at home, I’d learnt everything I could about pregnancy, labour, birth and life with a newborn. I’d dreamt of all the things we’d do together.
Instead I had to learn to navigate a new life.
I woke up from emergency surgery, to meet my baby. It took me several attempts at waking up before I started to realise what had happened – somedays it still feels like a bad dream, one that I can’t wake up from. When I first met my son, I didn’t want to hold him. I was scared. None of the articles, blogs, books, magazines I had read prepared me for this.
As our friends and family started to visit, other people were holding him. The midwives so gently wrapped him, in a fluffy little blanket, which I stroked and gradually started to explore my son. I held him. And I never wanted to let him go.
Over the next three days we made memories as a family – taking casts of his feet, photographs, giving him gifts and seeing him in some of special outfits we had brought for him. He wore a little England kit, an a blue superstar DJ outfit which were changed over the top of his Babygro, because his skin was becoming fragile. We had a blessing, where he was given his name.
Eventually we had to leave the hospital, leaving our baby, the most precious thing we had ever had, behind with strangers.
There is no way that those moments can leave a person unchanged. Over time I learnt that there would be a new normality for me.
One which didnt contain nappy changes – but did contain sleepless nights.
One which didn’t contain tears from a crying baby – but did contain more tears from us than I ever thought possible.
One which didn’t contain breast feeding – but did contain a post partum body.
One which didn’t contain watching a baby learn to smile – but did contain learning to smile again myself.
One which didn’t contain watching a baby learn to crawl – but did contain feeling phantom kicks from a baby long gone.
One which didn’t contain tidying a bedroom – but did contain decorating a grave.
To help me navigate that new normal, I decided that I would forever protect Finley’s memory. My biggest fear was no longer that my baby would die – my biggest fear was that my baby would be forgotten.
To help me remember, I kept a journal, which has now become a book. This book is called Finley’s Footprints – the footprints represent a huge legacy that this little boy left behind.
Happy Birthday Finley.