My baby

A delicate life, a child barely lived. Lay in a clinical white, disinfected room. Just beeping machines, and silence. The life slips away.1

Two years old, a mere baby. He had only just learnt how to talk, been walking for about a year. He was just beginning to enjoy life. To laugh at jokes, and play properly. He was learning how to play football, to be the great footballer his father wished for. 2

He loved the park. Loved the swings the most. Sat in a secure seat being pushed,3

“Higher, higher!”4

He always wished he could flip over the top, and the higher he swung, the louder his giggles of joy were. We’d take our mongrel dog with us and sandwiches, a big rug, so when he got hungry or thirsty, he could eat or drink and run off again to play with the other children. 5

Usually, there’d be sandwiches left at the end of the day, and on the way home, he’d peddle ahead on his little bicycle and stop at the duck pond. We’d sit on a bench, often next to and old man or an old woman, throwing bits of bread and watching the ducks eat them up as quickly as we could throw them. The dog would paddle in the pond splashing water all over us which would make him giggle even harder. Sometimes, we would give all the ducks names, and make up stories about them on the walk home. 6

Then it would be bedtime, and curled up under the covers, we’d make up more stories or read one from a book. He had hundreds of books in a drawer at the bottom of the wardrobe, Christmas presents, and Birthday presents and treats for being good. Two stories were sufficient enough to make him fall into a deep sleep, angelic under a big thick duvet. Every night I’d kiss him on the head, turn out his bedroom light, but leave the hall light on so he’d sleep soundly.7

It was very rare that he would wake up in the night, but he started to wake up every night. Screaming and crying. Shouting for me. Every night for a week he woke up clammy and feeling so ill. So like any parent, I took him to the hospital where they admitted him for observation. I stayed the night in the hospital with him, it was his first night away from home, and he hardly slept. He dozed but his sleep was so light every movement awoke him. 8

Days of tests and trips to and from the doctors and the hospital before we received results. Sat in the doctors office, with wooden furniture and leather chairs he broke the news. Only two words stuck in my head9

“Incurable” “Leukaemia”10

The doctor told us he would live for six months maximum, to prepare ourselves for the worse. It felt as though a witch had cast a curse on us.11

Over the six months, he changed. He didn’t want to go to the park anymore. He didn’t want to play football or feed the ducks. He didn’t want to swing higher and higher until he flipped over the bar. He just slept. The colour slowly faded from his face, his personality slipped away. He wasn’t our little boy anymore. 12

Life at home became harder, tension between myself and his father grew. It was never spoken out loud, but deep down inside we blamed one another for the situation. Arguements erupted daily and plates were often left broken on the kitchen floor.13

Close to the end, he was readmitted into hospital until he died. He was unrecognisable. He had stopped talking to us, he wasn’t interested in anything. He, himself had given up, had stopped fighting for his own survival. It was as though he had lost himself to an isolated island, somewhere he was safe and happy.14

I woke up one morning and got dressed as usual, packed up what I needed for another day sat on a children’s ward surrounded by terminally ill children, half my age. They had no hope of ever seeing what I have, of ever living. I wrapped some fruit up in a cream linen napkin for him but I knew instantly when I had opened my eyes that this was the last day. A mother’s instinct they say. 15

I cuddled him all day and all evening. His conditioned worsened. I knew he had mere minutes. He knew it too. I told him I loved him. He looked at me, and for the first time in days he spoke to me.16

“Mummy I love you. I love Daddy too.”17

I cried, I couldn’t not cry, he just watched me crying then he closed his eyes. Died in my arms. I felt his soul leave him, and leave the room.18

His ashes were scattered under a rosemary bush near the park he had loved so much.19