As we are getting closer and closer to welcoming this new baby into our world, my head seems to be all over the place. Physically, I am quite ready but emotionally I go from being maybe ok to not being ready at all. On top of it all, the memories from the day Patrick died seem to be coming back randomly and more often. They bring with them such an overwhelming sadness, too. I am wondering how I will be able to cope with the new baby while still not being able to accept his brothers absence.
I also wonder how I will be able to cope with actually having this baby because there are times when I think that I won't be able to manage at all and would really like if he could just stay put altogether.
At the end of the day, we can just try and get through everything as best as we can but missing Patrick is the worst feeling in the world.
Monday, 26 September 2011
Feeling Detached
I have been noticing lately that somehow, in my way of getting through every-day life, I am feeling strangely detached from Patrick's dying.
I know it happened. But yet it seems pushed to the back of my mind.
Maybe you could say I feel like an onlooker rather than someone stuck in the middle of all of this. And yet, somewhere in the back of my mind, the knowledge is there.
Memories are becoming, at times, unbearably painful - but mainly only if they pop into my head when I am alone. Surrounded by people, I feel myself able to reminisce and speak about him in a natural sort of a way.
I am avoiding looking at his pictures and the memory of the day he died seems too much to take in. Knowing we will never be able to hold and hug him and see him grow up just takes my breath away.
I don't want to be here, in this position. But I guess, I am not given a choice in the matter.
I know it happened. But yet it seems pushed to the back of my mind.
Maybe you could say I feel like an onlooker rather than someone stuck in the middle of all of this. And yet, somewhere in the back of my mind, the knowledge is there.
Memories are becoming, at times, unbearably painful - but mainly only if they pop into my head when I am alone. Surrounded by people, I feel myself able to reminisce and speak about him in a natural sort of a way.
I am avoiding looking at his pictures and the memory of the day he died seems too much to take in. Knowing we will never be able to hold and hug him and see him grow up just takes my breath away.
I don't want to be here, in this position. But I guess, I am not given a choice in the matter.
Tuesday, 13 September 2011
Ultimate Definition of Mixed Emotions
Every Tuesday since we have found out we are expecting our second child has been a day of mixed emotions.
33 weeks since Patrick died and 33 weeks pregnant today.
It's been like this for the past twenty-odd weeks. I am finding it both tough and comforting.
On the one hand, it is a constant reminder how much time has passed since our whole world was turned upside down. On the other hand, it is one week closer to meeting this new little man.
It's become somehow part of my grieving process - having this every Tuesday of every week. So in a way, I wonder what it will be like when this one is born and we do not have this weekly "ritual" anymore.
I still wonder if I am just putting off the inevitable - will it all catch up with me once I am home with the new baby?
In fairness, these last weeks we have been keeping busy between baby stuff and headstone stuff and it is far too easy to keep busy and switch off your mind. At least most times during the day.
Each night when I go to bed, my last thoughts are with Patrick and each morning when I wake up, he is on my mind first thing. or there are the times I am alone in my thoughts, perhaps going for a walk and listening to music. That's when he pops into my head and I am reminded of him from songs.
Like Bruce Springsteen's Terry's Song... "when they build you brother, they broke the mold".
And then you wonder:
What if the new baby looks just like him?
What if he does not?
What if he does not measure up to Patrick in terms of being an "easy" baby?
What if he gets sick?
What if he does not like sheep the way Patrick did? Will that disappoint me?
Perhaps all these questions will just go away and it will get easier but I am certain missing him and wanting him with us will never go away.
33 weeks since Patrick died and 33 weeks pregnant today.
It's been like this for the past twenty-odd weeks. I am finding it both tough and comforting.
On the one hand, it is a constant reminder how much time has passed since our whole world was turned upside down. On the other hand, it is one week closer to meeting this new little man.
It's become somehow part of my grieving process - having this every Tuesday of every week. So in a way, I wonder what it will be like when this one is born and we do not have this weekly "ritual" anymore.
I still wonder if I am just putting off the inevitable - will it all catch up with me once I am home with the new baby?
In fairness, these last weeks we have been keeping busy between baby stuff and headstone stuff and it is far too easy to keep busy and switch off your mind. At least most times during the day.
Each night when I go to bed, my last thoughts are with Patrick and each morning when I wake up, he is on my mind first thing. or there are the times I am alone in my thoughts, perhaps going for a walk and listening to music. That's when he pops into my head and I am reminded of him from songs.
Like Bruce Springsteen's Terry's Song... "when they build you brother, they broke the mold".
And then you wonder:
What if the new baby looks just like him?
What if he does not?
What if he does not measure up to Patrick in terms of being an "easy" baby?
What if he gets sick?
What if he does not like sheep the way Patrick did? Will that disappoint me?
Perhaps all these questions will just go away and it will get easier but I am certain missing him and wanting him with us will never go away.
Tuesday, 23 August 2011
The Circle of Life
Yet, despite all that is going on out here and despite all the emotions we are going through; oblivious to it all; there is that other little life growing and developing inside of me. Blissfully unaware of anything else but perhaps its immediate surroundings and possibly its limbs and digits.
We spent almost an hour with a lovely doctor yesterday getting a 3D scan done.
When we were expecting Patrick, we had been thinking about it but had never done it in the end.
It was lovely seeing this little one and its features so very clearly. And it was reassuring to hear all looked just fine.
So between the loss of Patrick, our new reality that includes coming to terms with this loss and headstone shopping, life goes on; regardless. I guess that is just the way it has to be...
We spent almost an hour with a lovely doctor yesterday getting a 3D scan done.
When we were expecting Patrick, we had been thinking about it but had never done it in the end.
It was lovely seeing this little one and its features so very clearly. And it was reassuring to hear all looked just fine.
So between the loss of Patrick, our new reality that includes coming to terms with this loss and headstone shopping, life goes on; regardless. I guess that is just the way it has to be...
Monday, 22 August 2011
Our New Reality
It's been strange to get used to some aspects of our new reality without Patrick.
For instance, we might confuse each other when speaking about subsequent children. I remember once speaking with my husband about having this one and then probably not leaving too much time between it and number three. My husband somehow figured this one would be well in school by the time we have "number 3"....which confused me until I clarified that to me Patrick was 1, this one, 2 and the next 3.
Or that visiting a grave has become part of our new reality. Not just any grave either. Knowing that it is your own child buried there makes it surreal somehow. We still stand there every time wondering how the heck this ended up being our new reality.
Finally deciding that it would be a good idea to get some quotes for headstones is yet another one of those things that somehow has become part of our new reality. We should not have to be doing this but somehow we do and while it might have taken us a bit subconciously, we eventually did decide to venture out and look at a few places. At almost 30 weeks pregnant, we thought it might be good before this one makes its entrance and occupies most of our time.
We found one place closed; could not find another place at all and while we eventually found the third, the owner was just out. So a good 2 hours, a lot of driving around and none the wiser.
Of course these things just happen but somehow it bugged me and after a bit of pondering, I put it down to it actually being a difficult enough task to go about. Whether you realise it or not, it's not easy to go out and pick out a headstone for your child's grave and you would have somehow wished you could have got done what you wanted without this much difficulty. All we wanted was show them a picture of what we had in mind and get an idea of the cost.
Same again next Saturday so.....
For instance, we might confuse each other when speaking about subsequent children. I remember once speaking with my husband about having this one and then probably not leaving too much time between it and number three. My husband somehow figured this one would be well in school by the time we have "number 3"....which confused me until I clarified that to me Patrick was 1, this one, 2 and the next 3.
Or that visiting a grave has become part of our new reality. Not just any grave either. Knowing that it is your own child buried there makes it surreal somehow. We still stand there every time wondering how the heck this ended up being our new reality.
Finally deciding that it would be a good idea to get some quotes for headstones is yet another one of those things that somehow has become part of our new reality. We should not have to be doing this but somehow we do and while it might have taken us a bit subconciously, we eventually did decide to venture out and look at a few places. At almost 30 weeks pregnant, we thought it might be good before this one makes its entrance and occupies most of our time.
We found one place closed; could not find another place at all and while we eventually found the third, the owner was just out. So a good 2 hours, a lot of driving around and none the wiser.
Of course these things just happen but somehow it bugged me and after a bit of pondering, I put it down to it actually being a difficult enough task to go about. Whether you realise it or not, it's not easy to go out and pick out a headstone for your child's grave and you would have somehow wished you could have got done what you wanted without this much difficulty. All we wanted was show them a picture of what we had in mind and get an idea of the cost.
Same again next Saturday so.....
Wednesday, 10 August 2011
Small Mercies
And then again, among all this pain and sadness, you find yourself able to recognise and cling to the small mercies amidst all this. The impossible happened. Your healthy toddler just dies for no apparent reason in his creche whilst one parent is out of the country. How on earth should it be possible to find anything positive or comforting arising out of that sort of a situation.
Yet here we are and I think there were plenty of things to be grateful for and plenty of stuff that helped/helps us through it all.
1. As horrible as it was for my wonderful husband to have to deal with this by himself initially and as much as I really wanted to be there for him in that moment, I am glad I did not have to receive that call, drive to the creche and see the paramedics work on our son. I am positive that I would not have had the strength to witness that. Maybe some greater power had some sort of a say in this. If it had to happen at all, it happened in the kindest way possible - sort of.
2. At least our son just slipped away quietly in his sleep. As much of a shock as it was, at least he did not die of some horrible illness that would have seen him suffer and seen us and the extended family see him waste away slowly.
3. I am glad, my husband did not find him at home as is so often the case with SUDC and SIDS, too. Especially with me gone, I think this would have been so much more traumatic on us. Although, the way it happened was absolutely devestating for the creche staff!
4. I am grateful that our friend, the priest who baptised him, was around to say his funeral mass. He was only in the country literally for just a week between trips and a longer absence from his usual parish.
5. I also think it helped me and my German folks especially to see the way Irish people rally around their loved ones when there is a death. The way there were always people in the house, making tea and food and making themselves useful. The way people dropped everything to be by our side in those early days. They way people cared when they came to the wake and funeral in their hundreds. This all was amazing to me and it really helped me through that early time.
6. The way people continue to stick around, ready to listen when you need to talk and being ok about backing off when you are having an anti-social moment.
7. I am grateful that we are young enough to be having more children. While no amount of siblings will ever replace Patrick, I think the situation would be infinitely worse if one ever lost their only child at a stage in their life where there was no more hope of any siblings. Maybe I am trying to make myself feel better about our situation but I do believe that ours is not as bleak as it could be - if that is right way of putting it.
8. And finally, there is the way we are in the most bizarre position to say, yesterday, Tuesday 09 August 2011 it was 28 weeks ago that Patrick died and we are also exactly 28 weeks pregnant with his sibling, Skippy, the kangaroo. (Honestly, they keep telling me it is a human baby but if this is true, he is suffering an idendity crisis and believes himself to be a kangaroo judging by the activity.) After our son passed away, we sort of said to hell with planning. We spend most of our lives planning and scheming. I in particular. We had "planned" to have this first one and then enjoy him/her for a while before going for number 2. Well, all the planning in the world did not do us any good here so we said to hell with it. Whatever happens, happens. Apparently, it happened rather quickly!
So, you see. While there are days when you want to hide from the world, there are others where you are able see beyond the pain and grief and find yourself able to recognise the small blessings in life. It's probably all our own unique way of coping - and sometimes, it is amazing how we cope.
Yet here we are and I think there were plenty of things to be grateful for and plenty of stuff that helped/helps us through it all.
1. As horrible as it was for my wonderful husband to have to deal with this by himself initially and as much as I really wanted to be there for him in that moment, I am glad I did not have to receive that call, drive to the creche and see the paramedics work on our son. I am positive that I would not have had the strength to witness that. Maybe some greater power had some sort of a say in this. If it had to happen at all, it happened in the kindest way possible - sort of.
2. At least our son just slipped away quietly in his sleep. As much of a shock as it was, at least he did not die of some horrible illness that would have seen him suffer and seen us and the extended family see him waste away slowly.
3. I am glad, my husband did not find him at home as is so often the case with SUDC and SIDS, too. Especially with me gone, I think this would have been so much more traumatic on us. Although, the way it happened was absolutely devestating for the creche staff!
4. I am grateful that our friend, the priest who baptised him, was around to say his funeral mass. He was only in the country literally for just a week between trips and a longer absence from his usual parish.
5. I also think it helped me and my German folks especially to see the way Irish people rally around their loved ones when there is a death. The way there were always people in the house, making tea and food and making themselves useful. The way people dropped everything to be by our side in those early days. They way people cared when they came to the wake and funeral in their hundreds. This all was amazing to me and it really helped me through that early time.
6. The way people continue to stick around, ready to listen when you need to talk and being ok about backing off when you are having an anti-social moment.
7. I am grateful that we are young enough to be having more children. While no amount of siblings will ever replace Patrick, I think the situation would be infinitely worse if one ever lost their only child at a stage in their life where there was no more hope of any siblings. Maybe I am trying to make myself feel better about our situation but I do believe that ours is not as bleak as it could be - if that is right way of putting it.
8. And finally, there is the way we are in the most bizarre position to say, yesterday, Tuesday 09 August 2011 it was 28 weeks ago that Patrick died and we are also exactly 28 weeks pregnant with his sibling, Skippy, the kangaroo. (Honestly, they keep telling me it is a human baby but if this is true, he is suffering an idendity crisis and believes himself to be a kangaroo judging by the activity.) After our son passed away, we sort of said to hell with planning. We spend most of our lives planning and scheming. I in particular. We had "planned" to have this first one and then enjoy him/her for a while before going for number 2. Well, all the planning in the world did not do us any good here so we said to hell with it. Whatever happens, happens. Apparently, it happened rather quickly!
So, you see. While there are days when you want to hide from the world, there are others where you are able see beyond the pain and grief and find yourself able to recognise the small blessings in life. It's probably all our own unique way of coping - and sometimes, it is amazing how we cope.
Sunday, 7 August 2011
But what if I don't want an angel in heaven?
Not having a good day really. Some days just seem to catch you out more than others and often, I am not sure why exactly. I guess, you have to go with the flow and allow yourself that time to be anti-social and self-indulgent in your grief at that particular moment.
Many times, people will tell you that you now have a little angel up in heaven watching over you. I know they mean well and there are days where this notion does help but there are others when it does not.
I remember once reading about someone who was told that and they said they felt like saying to that person: "Well then, line up your kids and pick one to be your angel. Which one would you pick?"
Harsh? Maybe; but there are days when you might catch yourself thinking just that - though you usually tend to stop yourself from actually uttering those words because, again, they really do not mean any disrespect or harm in what they are saying. What can you say to someone in that situation? Most of the time, even I would be afraid to speak to me because there just are no words. Often, it is little gestures though that touch you beyond measure and make you grateful for the support you have around you.
Today though I truly feel that no, I do not want an angel in heaven. I want my son here with me, sitting beside me on the couch and maybe feeling my growing tummy and looking at me curiously when his little brother starts another kick-boxing session. Today, I am grieving for the son I lost and for his little brother and the fact they'll never get to meet or play with each other. I want to be picking his big boy bed and fret about potty training.
No, I do not want him in heaven, I want him right here with us and the closer we get to his little brother being born, the stronger that feeling gets.
Many times, people will tell you that you now have a little angel up in heaven watching over you. I know they mean well and there are days where this notion does help but there are others when it does not.
I remember once reading about someone who was told that and they said they felt like saying to that person: "Well then, line up your kids and pick one to be your angel. Which one would you pick?"
Harsh? Maybe; but there are days when you might catch yourself thinking just that - though you usually tend to stop yourself from actually uttering those words because, again, they really do not mean any disrespect or harm in what they are saying. What can you say to someone in that situation? Most of the time, even I would be afraid to speak to me because there just are no words. Often, it is little gestures though that touch you beyond measure and make you grateful for the support you have around you.
Today though I truly feel that no, I do not want an angel in heaven. I want my son here with me, sitting beside me on the couch and maybe feeling my growing tummy and looking at me curiously when his little brother starts another kick-boxing session. Today, I am grieving for the son I lost and for his little brother and the fact they'll never get to meet or play with each other. I want to be picking his big boy bed and fret about potty training.
No, I do not want him in heaven, I want him right here with us and the closer we get to his little brother being born, the stronger that feeling gets.
Sunday, 24 July 2011
SUDC, the loss of your innocence
SUDC robs you of the single most precious thing in your life - your child and with it part of your future. Subconsciously, you have their life and yours mapped out. There will be school, birthday parties to go to, junior and then leaving certs, uni, weddings, grandchildren - and then in one moment this all vanishes into thin air. You never get to see what they look like grown up, what sort of a person they will be, who they will perhaps marry. Maybe we take those things for granted but then, why should we not? That is usually how it works, after all.
When Patrick was just about 6 months old or so, I set up an e-mail account for him and would occasionally email him with updates on his little life. I got a message read out to him on the radio for his 1st birthday and pestered the poor DJ, KC, for a copy of that clip so I could e-mail it to him. I guess I was looking forward to sharing all those things that you might otherwise forget over the years with him when he was older.
Was that so presumptuous of me/us?
SUDC also takes something else - your innocence and confidence. It strikes me every time I see parents out and about with their babies/toddlers. They do not know what I know now. They can still stroll along pushing that pram, headphones on while I am sometimes wondering how on earth they know their little one is still alive in there! We may never be able to go about taking care of any future children in the same innocent way we did before. After all, we have that dreadful experience of losing one to something so cruel and sneaky.
While we will most definitely not get that innocence back, we can fight to restore that confidence. In many ways, what worked for Patrick so very well, should work on subsequent children, shouldn't it? He was a well adjusted, lovely little boy. So, we must have done it half ways right that far. Why should we want to change a single thing in the way we brought him up when we get to number 2?
I can honestly say that I am not sure how I will react to having a new baby in the house. I could not honestly predict if I'd hover over the child or be able to raise it in much the same way we did Patrick.
As Patrick got older and was moved into his own room just located above the sitting room, we often did not even bother much with baby monitors anymore. Once he was 18 months old. We'd be very likely to he hear him squawk without electronic help. We also knew his patterns. We knew he'd sleep no problem most of the time and when you get to know your child like that, you know what to expect and you relax.
A few weeks back I was up late watching TV, with the sound turned up a bit more than I would have if Patrick had been upstairs sleeping and I thought to myself...I think I'd definitely be using the monitor still...sure how would I catch if something was up without it?
So, you see, I am really not sure what it will be like with No. 2. All we can do is wait and see and play it by ear; knowing that whatever we feel the need to be doing to remain sane, will be OK. Ultimately, I hope we will succeed in clawing back that confidence - No. 2 and us,too; we would all deserve it.
When Patrick was just about 6 months old or so, I set up an e-mail account for him and would occasionally email him with updates on his little life. I got a message read out to him on the radio for his 1st birthday and pestered the poor DJ, KC, for a copy of that clip so I could e-mail it to him. I guess I was looking forward to sharing all those things that you might otherwise forget over the years with him when he was older.
Was that so presumptuous of me/us?
SUDC also takes something else - your innocence and confidence. It strikes me every time I see parents out and about with their babies/toddlers. They do not know what I know now. They can still stroll along pushing that pram, headphones on while I am sometimes wondering how on earth they know their little one is still alive in there! We may never be able to go about taking care of any future children in the same innocent way we did before. After all, we have that dreadful experience of losing one to something so cruel and sneaky.
While we will most definitely not get that innocence back, we can fight to restore that confidence. In many ways, what worked for Patrick so very well, should work on subsequent children, shouldn't it? He was a well adjusted, lovely little boy. So, we must have done it half ways right that far. Why should we want to change a single thing in the way we brought him up when we get to number 2?
I can honestly say that I am not sure how I will react to having a new baby in the house. I could not honestly predict if I'd hover over the child or be able to raise it in much the same way we did Patrick.
As Patrick got older and was moved into his own room just located above the sitting room, we often did not even bother much with baby monitors anymore. Once he was 18 months old. We'd be very likely to he hear him squawk without electronic help. We also knew his patterns. We knew he'd sleep no problem most of the time and when you get to know your child like that, you know what to expect and you relax.
A few weeks back I was up late watching TV, with the sound turned up a bit more than I would have if Patrick had been upstairs sleeping and I thought to myself...I think I'd definitely be using the monitor still...sure how would I catch if something was up without it?
So, you see, I am really not sure what it will be like with No. 2. All we can do is wait and see and play it by ear; knowing that whatever we feel the need to be doing to remain sane, will be OK. Ultimately, I hope we will succeed in clawing back that confidence - No. 2 and us,too; we would all deserve it.
The SUDC Program
Literally within days after Patrick's death we were contacted by someone through Facebook. This lady living in the UK had somehow read about Patrick in the online papers and made contact to let us know that something similar had happened to her and that there was help out there. She gave us the link the SUDC Program in the US.
The SUDC Program assist parents all over the world whose toddlers and older children have died suddenly. They are a wonderful group of people who are always there for you; following up with phone calls, e-mails, cards on special occasions - you name it, they do it. They also focus heavily on research into SUDC.
Before we became aware of the SUDC Program, Patrick's death had been put down by us and others as some sort of a cot death...though toddlers his age do not just die of cot death, or do they? It did not make sense. We had done everything right to minimise any risk when he was small. So why did this happen?
Looking at the SUDC website suddenly made us realise that, while extremely rare, there is this thing that takes seemingly healthy young toddlers and even older children and leaves them dead for apparently no reason. It makes for a chilling revelation. Before, we had never even known this existed. Now we know of people who lost children as old as over 10 in the same way we lost Patrick. Some even passed away sitting on the couch watching TV - they were not even asleep!!! Responsive one second and gone the next. While most cases do happen between 1 and 3, this would make any parent pale with freight.
This just confirmed what I had felt about Patrick's case - once this process starts, it cannot be halted or its final outcome prevented - no matter how quickly help appears. So while we were still waiting for the official post mortem results, I came to the conclusion in my own head, there just was no way of predicting or preventing this. Ergo...no-one could have seen this coming.
Whenever we see a new family being welcomed to the SUDC support forums, older members extend their sympathies and say how this was a club that nobody wants to be part of but that they will find a lot of support and understanding there - and they are correct. This club chooses you. You do not get a choice. But the people of the SUDC Program and the other parents make the journey a little less daunting with their help, advice and kindness.
There are marvellous fund-raising efforts especially in the US to help support the research branch. I guess we are all united in the hope that some day they get to find out what causes this and maybe even how to prevent it or how to be able to spot the signs.
We submitted Patrick's case to the research program and donated a small amount to it also. We hope that having his details added to the database, they eventually begin to make some breakthroughs. They have already noticed that a lot of the cases seem to have certain things in common - such as a history of febrile seizures. This is not the case for Patrick as far as we are aware though but it is a start.
The SUDC people have proven to be a source of tremendous support to us over the last 26 weeks and we are grateful for having been pointed to them so early on in our journey through this. They deserve a lot of credit for their work and we will never forget their kindness and support during this so very difficult time.
The SUDC Program assist parents all over the world whose toddlers and older children have died suddenly. They are a wonderful group of people who are always there for you; following up with phone calls, e-mails, cards on special occasions - you name it, they do it. They also focus heavily on research into SUDC.
Before we became aware of the SUDC Program, Patrick's death had been put down by us and others as some sort of a cot death...though toddlers his age do not just die of cot death, or do they? It did not make sense. We had done everything right to minimise any risk when he was small. So why did this happen?
Looking at the SUDC website suddenly made us realise that, while extremely rare, there is this thing that takes seemingly healthy young toddlers and even older children and leaves them dead for apparently no reason. It makes for a chilling revelation. Before, we had never even known this existed. Now we know of people who lost children as old as over 10 in the same way we lost Patrick. Some even passed away sitting on the couch watching TV - they were not even asleep!!! Responsive one second and gone the next. While most cases do happen between 1 and 3, this would make any parent pale with freight.
This just confirmed what I had felt about Patrick's case - once this process starts, it cannot be halted or its final outcome prevented - no matter how quickly help appears. So while we were still waiting for the official post mortem results, I came to the conclusion in my own head, there just was no way of predicting or preventing this. Ergo...no-one could have seen this coming.
Whenever we see a new family being welcomed to the SUDC support forums, older members extend their sympathies and say how this was a club that nobody wants to be part of but that they will find a lot of support and understanding there - and they are correct. This club chooses you. You do not get a choice. But the people of the SUDC Program and the other parents make the journey a little less daunting with their help, advice and kindness.
There are marvellous fund-raising efforts especially in the US to help support the research branch. I guess we are all united in the hope that some day they get to find out what causes this and maybe even how to prevent it or how to be able to spot the signs.
We submitted Patrick's case to the research program and donated a small amount to it also. We hope that having his details added to the database, they eventually begin to make some breakthroughs. They have already noticed that a lot of the cases seem to have certain things in common - such as a history of febrile seizures. This is not the case for Patrick as far as we are aware though but it is a start.
The SUDC people have proven to be a source of tremendous support to us over the last 26 weeks and we are grateful for having been pointed to them so early on in our journey through this. They deserve a lot of credit for their work and we will never forget their kindness and support during this so very difficult time.
3 become 2 again
The days following Patrick's we began questioning what we were now. Just moments ago we had been the parents of a wonderful little boy - now we found ourselves in a sort of limbo. We had been in our defined roles these last 21 months. I had been in almost constant mammy mode.
When your only child dies suddenly like that, where does that leave you?
I pondered on that question for a while. Was I all of a sudden no longer a mammy? A parent? What's my job description now?
People usually responded that we would always be Patrick's parents, his mammy and daddy. Just like the family around us would always be the aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents and godparents. I know that is true but it does not take away that confusion you initially feel.
Over the weeks and months that have followed, I think I have come to realise I am still a mammy, a parent - just not an active one right now. But I still feel like one and think like one.
It took us time to settle into our new temporary roles.
Even in your relationship you find yourself in a weird place when 3 become 2 again. Leaving the house was easy again, going out no problem. It was like before we became parents - but not really. It did not and still does not feel right to be able to do all those things and you tend to sometimes feel a bit of guilt over enjoying a night out with friends, as though you didn't have a care in the world. For a while, you might forget about everything but then you come back to the empty, quiet house and you find yourself once again trying to adjust to your new reality.
When your only child dies suddenly like that, where does that leave you?
I pondered on that question for a while. Was I all of a sudden no longer a mammy? A parent? What's my job description now?
People usually responded that we would always be Patrick's parents, his mammy and daddy. Just like the family around us would always be the aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents and godparents. I know that is true but it does not take away that confusion you initially feel.
Over the weeks and months that have followed, I think I have come to realise I am still a mammy, a parent - just not an active one right now. But I still feel like one and think like one.
It took us time to settle into our new temporary roles.
Even in your relationship you find yourself in a weird place when 3 become 2 again. Leaving the house was easy again, going out no problem. It was like before we became parents - but not really. It did not and still does not feel right to be able to do all those things and you tend to sometimes feel a bit of guilt over enjoying a night out with friends, as though you didn't have a care in the world. For a while, you might forget about everything but then you come back to the empty, quiet house and you find yourself once again trying to adjust to your new reality.
Saturday, 23 July 2011
The subject of blame
One thing that sprung into my mind immediately after finding out our son had died suddenly in his creche was blame.
I was worried for my husband and needed him to know that never for a second did it enter my head there might have been something he failed to do or that he missed.
I was also worried for the creche - wanting them to know what we did not doubt for one second that their care was anything but wonderful.
I was really worried about the girl who found him - wanting to re-assure her there was nothing anyone could have done and not to feel guilty.
As soon as I got home, I did say that to Pat. Of course he was going over every second of the hours between me leaving the country and Patrick dying. Of course you wonder if there was something we might have missed.
But sure, Patrick had just been to see his GP over an ongoing ear infection that was clearing up. Just the Wednesday before he died, he saw his GP who felt the ear was getting better and we could move to ear drops instead of antibiotics. And he was due to see the consultant who fitted the grommets the day of his funeral.
The GP who saw him last also said to us he was going over things again and again wondering if he had missed anything.
I was somehow sure the post mortem would not show anything and that it would be a case of shrugging shoulders and confused doctors not being able to explain what happened.
To me, that outcome seemed the most appealing...at least it would not be something genetic, hereditary or anything that might happen again. This could be declared a once off, a horrible fluke that will never ever happen to us again.
On the blame, I think often it happens that parents need to find something to blame in this kind of a situation. Each other, doctors, the creche - and to me/us it is important for all to know that in Patrick's situation there is no blame. Nobody could have predicted or prevent it from happening.
Does not make it easier but ...
I was worried for my husband and needed him to know that never for a second did it enter my head there might have been something he failed to do or that he missed.
I was also worried for the creche - wanting them to know what we did not doubt for one second that their care was anything but wonderful.
I was really worried about the girl who found him - wanting to re-assure her there was nothing anyone could have done and not to feel guilty.
As soon as I got home, I did say that to Pat. Of course he was going over every second of the hours between me leaving the country and Patrick dying. Of course you wonder if there was something we might have missed.
But sure, Patrick had just been to see his GP over an ongoing ear infection that was clearing up. Just the Wednesday before he died, he saw his GP who felt the ear was getting better and we could move to ear drops instead of antibiotics. And he was due to see the consultant who fitted the grommets the day of his funeral.
The GP who saw him last also said to us he was going over things again and again wondering if he had missed anything.
I was somehow sure the post mortem would not show anything and that it would be a case of shrugging shoulders and confused doctors not being able to explain what happened.
To me, that outcome seemed the most appealing...at least it would not be something genetic, hereditary or anything that might happen again. This could be declared a once off, a horrible fluke that will never ever happen to us again.
On the blame, I think often it happens that parents need to find something to blame in this kind of a situation. Each other, doctors, the creche - and to me/us it is important for all to know that in Patrick's situation there is no blame. Nobody could have predicted or prevent it from happening.
Does not make it easier but ...
What happens now?
There we were, early morning January 26th, standing in front of our sons cot; looking down on him. Pat's mam had lit his baptismal candle and the windows were open to keep the room cool. It all seemed surreal. It could not possibly be true.
After a while, we went back downstairs, had some tea and asked Pat's folk to stay over. Exhausted, we all went back upstairs and to bed. En route to bed, Pat and I went back into our sons room and recited "Me and My Dad", one of Patrick's favourite stories that we have come to know off by heart. Then we said good night and went to bed. Sleep took a long time to come that night and the next morning we got up, sat down in the kitchen, looked at Pat's parents and asked: "What happens now?"
I am familiar with the Irish way of funerals and straight off, the whole process is so much kinder and more humane than the German way which can be cold and anonymous. For one, you'd never get to take your child home with you like this! While I could not have predicted how I would feel about this in terms of my own child, I must say it does help tremendously. You get to say a proper good bye. Still, we had never been in the position of having to organise a funeral ourselves...and I hope we won't have to do that again for a very long time.
Pat's parents were just fantastic during the next days (and weeks and months). They stayed with us, helped arrange everything for the funeral and just knew what to do. They gave us the plot they had purchased for themselves (I think) in the local graveeyard that also Pat's grandparents are buried in. Extended family and friends just dropped everything to be by our side. The house was bustling with people coming in to make tea, food and/or themselves useful in some way.
There was a general feeling of shock and disbelief at what happened but people were tremendously kind and helpful at this time.
With the help of Pat's dad we got everything arranged. The undertaker was brilliant: Helping when needed and blending into the background when he felt he wasn't. It was suggested to do the wake at the house; have Patrick in his cot downstairs and that is what we went with.
Luckily, the priest we are friendly with and who was supposed to be traveling to the US for several months, happened to be around that week. Being the one who baptised Patrick, we would not have wanted anyone else to do him the honour of saying his funeral mass. It was him and another priest we have known for years who said the Mass together.
The service was beautiful and everyone at the church was both crying and smiling at a little piece myself and Pat had put together about Patrick; who he was, what he was like, that he loved his creche and his grandparents both in Germany and Ireland.
I was amazed at the amount of people coming to the wake and again the funeral the next day.And yet more people were waiting at the grave side. Hundreds it seemed. Again, this does not happen in Germany but it really does help in the grieving process.
While people here had no problems taking time off work for this (a very good friend who had just started a new job got told to leave and do what she had to when she told them about our boy dying), my niece from Germany got told by a secretary that a cousin was not close enough a relation to be missing University over! Thankfully her professor was quite alright with her coming over to attend the funeral but I sometimes do wish I could have a word with that secretary!
We traveled to the church and from the church to the graveyard in the back of our own car, with Patrick's little white coffin on our laps. The local people in Pat's parish had turned out in force to help with the digging of the grave which is something that is still done by the family and neighbours and friends out there. I think the count was 18 people. Friends of Pat's parents had the grave beautifully lined with moss and flowers and things and one of the guys, was said to have been itching to head to the grave ahead of us all after mass to make sure everything was still looking proper and well.
Patrick had been a huge part of our circle of friends and his death left a massive hole in their lives too. They all came to say good bye and take part in the mass in whichever way they could, between singing and readings and more.
This kind of help, community spirit, friendship and just being there for people in this situation really moved me beyond words. I will be eternally grateful to all those who helped and were there for us and who continue to be there for us.
Even though our GP's gave us meds to help us through this time if needed, neither of us took them. I am not sure where we found it, but we had the strength. I later sometimes wondered if there was something wrong with me that I did not break down more or lose the plot altogether - but I am coming to learn that this was my heart/mind and body's way of dealing with this - and that was OK.
I am not sure these are the right words to use but all in all we did give our son a most wonderful send-off. Never in our dreams or worst nightmares would we have imaged to have to do that but once in that awful situation, it all came together beautifully for him. We were not able to save him from dying - so this was as much as we owed him; at least.
After a while, we went back downstairs, had some tea and asked Pat's folk to stay over. Exhausted, we all went back upstairs and to bed. En route to bed, Pat and I went back into our sons room and recited "Me and My Dad", one of Patrick's favourite stories that we have come to know off by heart. Then we said good night and went to bed. Sleep took a long time to come that night and the next morning we got up, sat down in the kitchen, looked at Pat's parents and asked: "What happens now?"
I am familiar with the Irish way of funerals and straight off, the whole process is so much kinder and more humane than the German way which can be cold and anonymous. For one, you'd never get to take your child home with you like this! While I could not have predicted how I would feel about this in terms of my own child, I must say it does help tremendously. You get to say a proper good bye. Still, we had never been in the position of having to organise a funeral ourselves...and I hope we won't have to do that again for a very long time.
Pat's parents were just fantastic during the next days (and weeks and months). They stayed with us, helped arrange everything for the funeral and just knew what to do. They gave us the plot they had purchased for themselves (I think) in the local graveeyard that also Pat's grandparents are buried in. Extended family and friends just dropped everything to be by our side. The house was bustling with people coming in to make tea, food and/or themselves useful in some way.
There was a general feeling of shock and disbelief at what happened but people were tremendously kind and helpful at this time.
With the help of Pat's dad we got everything arranged. The undertaker was brilliant: Helping when needed and blending into the background when he felt he wasn't. It was suggested to do the wake at the house; have Patrick in his cot downstairs and that is what we went with.
Luckily, the priest we are friendly with and who was supposed to be traveling to the US for several months, happened to be around that week. Being the one who baptised Patrick, we would not have wanted anyone else to do him the honour of saying his funeral mass. It was him and another priest we have known for years who said the Mass together.
The service was beautiful and everyone at the church was both crying and smiling at a little piece myself and Pat had put together about Patrick; who he was, what he was like, that he loved his creche and his grandparents both in Germany and Ireland.
I was amazed at the amount of people coming to the wake and again the funeral the next day.And yet more people were waiting at the grave side. Hundreds it seemed. Again, this does not happen in Germany but it really does help in the grieving process.
While people here had no problems taking time off work for this (a very good friend who had just started a new job got told to leave and do what she had to when she told them about our boy dying), my niece from Germany got told by a secretary that a cousin was not close enough a relation to be missing University over! Thankfully her professor was quite alright with her coming over to attend the funeral but I sometimes do wish I could have a word with that secretary!
We traveled to the church and from the church to the graveyard in the back of our own car, with Patrick's little white coffin on our laps. The local people in Pat's parish had turned out in force to help with the digging of the grave which is something that is still done by the family and neighbours and friends out there. I think the count was 18 people. Friends of Pat's parents had the grave beautifully lined with moss and flowers and things and one of the guys, was said to have been itching to head to the grave ahead of us all after mass to make sure everything was still looking proper and well.
Patrick had been a huge part of our circle of friends and his death left a massive hole in their lives too. They all came to say good bye and take part in the mass in whichever way they could, between singing and readings and more.
This kind of help, community spirit, friendship and just being there for people in this situation really moved me beyond words. I will be eternally grateful to all those who helped and were there for us and who continue to be there for us.
Even though our GP's gave us meds to help us through this time if needed, neither of us took them. I am not sure where we found it, but we had the strength. I later sometimes wondered if there was something wrong with me that I did not break down more or lose the plot altogether - but I am coming to learn that this was my heart/mind and body's way of dealing with this - and that was OK.
I am not sure these are the right words to use but all in all we did give our son a most wonderful send-off. Never in our dreams or worst nightmares would we have imaged to have to do that but once in that awful situation, it all came together beautifully for him. We were not able to save him from dying - so this was as much as we owed him; at least.
Patrick - Part 2
From very early on, Patrick developed a love for books and would happily sit there looking at them or alternatively eating them. Woolly's Walk was one of his early favourites. It is about Woolly the Sheep who went looking for lunch. Among the things Woolly is told not to eat, is Bunny's fluffy tail. Well, after Patrick had gotten to it, Bunny's fluffy tail was never quite the same again.
He was also made an involuntary Munster Supporter (although I would like to think he would have chosen Munster himself later anyway) and we somehow got into the habit of finding out where photo opportunities might be and got his picture taken with many of the Munster greats over the months. There can be little else to do when you are on maternity leave looking for something entertaining while everyone else is working!
August 2009
August 2010
He even made an impression on Paul O'Connell after I mentioned to him that Patrick's nickname was Sproggy. I guess a name like that is not something you easily forget and Paul once even asked when he saw me how Sproggy was doing!
While he might have sat up by himself and crawled and walked late-ish, I remember him having his pincer-grip down to a T from very early on.
He seemed to be intrigued by fiddly things and would spend loads of time trying to do up the clips of his high chair or safety harness. He eventually refused to have the safety harness on him to walk around the shopping centre. He'd stage a sit down protest (in a quiet, Sprogsy-like fashion again) and would not get up and walk around with it on him - but he loved playing with the clasps.
When it was time to return to work, Patrick took to his creche like a duck to water. It had been recommended to me by my boss and friend and so I have to say, I was not at all teary when dropping him off there for the first time. I knew he would be in very good hands and he always was. He loved it there. When he started, his preferred method of getting from A to B was by rolling. In the creche, he tended to roll underneath the radiator...they found him there a number of times. :)
Due to a few bouts of ear infections, Patrick had grommets fitted in June 2010 and from the next day on you could see the difference in him. His speech came along and he babbled much more than before and maybe it also did something for his balance as he started walking shortly after.
He loved animals and continued to love books, in particular ones about animals and in particular again books with sheep in it. Patrick had a farm yard tales book a friend gave us and we used to read a couple of those stories most nights for bed time.
Bedtime was Pat's thing. He put Patrick up to bed most nights and loved that routine. Quite often, he'd read him a story named “Me and my Dad” which is a wonderful story about a Daddy Bear and Small Bear and what they do together. In the end, we knew it off by heart and recited it to him. We did that too for the 3 nights we had Patrick at home with us after he died. Pat still goes into his room and closed the curtains last thing at night and opens them in the mornings. It is a ritual that has become important to him, I think.
Patrick sort of fell into his own sleep time routine around the 4-5 month mark. He'd get sleepy by 7 or 7.30 and all he'd want then was his bed. Sometimes, there would be a happy smile on his face when he'd get to put his head down on his pillow in the cot. There was rarely any trouble getting him to sleep unless he was feeling off which did not happen too often once the ears had been taken care of. He often crawled up the stairs to bed by himself and seemed genuinely happy to get to sleep.
Patrick also liked his food. He'd eat well in the creche and well enough at home. We tried to give him mostly home cooked things as he had never been a fan of jars anyway. Oddly enough, he loved broccoli and could happily polish off a fine portion of it; a vegetable that his daddy very much dislikes.
Little tots are just so much fun to be around, especially when their speech comes along and you can interact with them on a whole new level. Patrick would bring you books to read. He'd get you to play with him; do his farm yard jigsaw, hide some of the pieces under a couch cushion and pretend to be surprised to see them gone and all sorts of mischief.
He'd try to help with sweeping the floor and even though we got him his own set, he preferred mammy's Vileda telescopic sweeping brush that we could adjust to his size. He'd meddle with my washing machine also when I wasn't looking and I'd be forever wondering why that spin cycle never took off until I noticed someone had switched it off!
Interestingly, Patrick also closely inspected the safety latches on the doors for under the sink and the delph. If they were ever left open – he'd go right ahead and close them. Either a very safety conscious act or purely innocent.
Patrick learned all the animal noises and his daddy was very good in teaching him those. For a while, everything was BAAAA – but he did eventually learn the others too although the sheep still remained a firm favourite. He said Mammy and Daddy and to hear that was precious to us. He also had a few German words. A wonderful memory of ours is when we had put Patrick in the car after visiting a good friend and she looked in and said to him: “Later Dude” and he grinned at her and repeated: “dude” in the cutest ever way. She was fair chuffed to have been the one to teach him that!
One day he surprised patients at the local GP's with his level of vocabulary at such a tender age. We had been waiting a while and young Patrick had provided all of the other people waiting with reading material. He was never shy and would go up to anyone and interact with them. He then brought a children's book to a lady and proceeded looking at it with her. There were animals in the book and he pointed at one and said: “Moose”. Indeed, it was a picture of a Moose and the lady was fair impressed until I said he knew the word because we had oven gloves with Mooses on them. :)
It is hard to summarise our little fella – there was just so much to him and there aren't enough words to do him and hist short life justice. He just showed such a wonderful little personality even that early on. In the creche, people commented how open and friendly he was. He'd go up to other parents picking up their kids and show them things. He just did not make strange with anyone really.
Yes, there were moments and days when we were glad when he was in bed. I'd be lying if I said that every day was easy and wonderful and no trouble at all; but overall he was an easy child to mind.
He had come along so much by January 25th...in his development and speech and personality. The baby was gone out of him and he was a fully fletched toddler. He had a few small sentences and spent his days soaking up information, I am sure.
We miss his little blond mop of curls.
We miss the way he said Mammy and Daddy and other words.
We miss the way he'd give hugs and kisses.
We miss his dimply smile
We miss the way we'd check on him at night, open the door ever so slightly and would have to back out really quickly if there was any sudden movement – for fear we'd wake him!
We miss the way our days had a routine that was sort of based around him.
We miss picking him up from the creche, full of smiles.
We miss taking him out to his grandparents on a Sunday.
We miss him asking to watch Shaun the Sheep or Timmy Time after coming home from creche. (his/my portable DVD player has been untouched since he died – still containing the DVD he last watched).
We miss not having him around anymore.
We miss him for who he was and for who he was going to grow up to be.
Maybe somehow he knew he was not meant to be around for long and maybe that is why he made his time with us so precious and memorable. We love him and miss him always.
He was also made an involuntary Munster Supporter (although I would like to think he would have chosen Munster himself later anyway) and we somehow got into the habit of finding out where photo opportunities might be and got his picture taken with many of the Munster greats over the months. There can be little else to do when you are on maternity leave looking for something entertaining while everyone else is working!
August 2009
August 2010
He even made an impression on Paul O'Connell after I mentioned to him that Patrick's nickname was Sproggy. I guess a name like that is not something you easily forget and Paul once even asked when he saw me how Sproggy was doing!
While he might have sat up by himself and crawled and walked late-ish, I remember him having his pincer-grip down to a T from very early on.
He seemed to be intrigued by fiddly things and would spend loads of time trying to do up the clips of his high chair or safety harness. He eventually refused to have the safety harness on him to walk around the shopping centre. He'd stage a sit down protest (in a quiet, Sprogsy-like fashion again) and would not get up and walk around with it on him - but he loved playing with the clasps.
When it was time to return to work, Patrick took to his creche like a duck to water. It had been recommended to me by my boss and friend and so I have to say, I was not at all teary when dropping him off there for the first time. I knew he would be in very good hands and he always was. He loved it there. When he started, his preferred method of getting from A to B was by rolling. In the creche, he tended to roll underneath the radiator...they found him there a number of times. :)
Due to a few bouts of ear infections, Patrick had grommets fitted in June 2010 and from the next day on you could see the difference in him. His speech came along and he babbled much more than before and maybe it also did something for his balance as he started walking shortly after.
He loved animals and continued to love books, in particular ones about animals and in particular again books with sheep in it. Patrick had a farm yard tales book a friend gave us and we used to read a couple of those stories most nights for bed time.
Bedtime was Pat's thing. He put Patrick up to bed most nights and loved that routine. Quite often, he'd read him a story named “Me and my Dad” which is a wonderful story about a Daddy Bear and Small Bear and what they do together. In the end, we knew it off by heart and recited it to him. We did that too for the 3 nights we had Patrick at home with us after he died. Pat still goes into his room and closed the curtains last thing at night and opens them in the mornings. It is a ritual that has become important to him, I think.
Patrick sort of fell into his own sleep time routine around the 4-5 month mark. He'd get sleepy by 7 or 7.30 and all he'd want then was his bed. Sometimes, there would be a happy smile on his face when he'd get to put his head down on his pillow in the cot. There was rarely any trouble getting him to sleep unless he was feeling off which did not happen too often once the ears had been taken care of. He often crawled up the stairs to bed by himself and seemed genuinely happy to get to sleep.
Patrick also liked his food. He'd eat well in the creche and well enough at home. We tried to give him mostly home cooked things as he had never been a fan of jars anyway. Oddly enough, he loved broccoli and could happily polish off a fine portion of it; a vegetable that his daddy very much dislikes.
Little tots are just so much fun to be around, especially when their speech comes along and you can interact with them on a whole new level. Patrick would bring you books to read. He'd get you to play with him; do his farm yard jigsaw, hide some of the pieces under a couch cushion and pretend to be surprised to see them gone and all sorts of mischief.
He'd try to help with sweeping the floor and even though we got him his own set, he preferred mammy's Vileda telescopic sweeping brush that we could adjust to his size. He'd meddle with my washing machine also when I wasn't looking and I'd be forever wondering why that spin cycle never took off until I noticed someone had switched it off!
Interestingly, Patrick also closely inspected the safety latches on the doors for under the sink and the delph. If they were ever left open – he'd go right ahead and close them. Either a very safety conscious act or purely innocent.
Patrick learned all the animal noises and his daddy was very good in teaching him those. For a while, everything was BAAAA – but he did eventually learn the others too although the sheep still remained a firm favourite. He said Mammy and Daddy and to hear that was precious to us. He also had a few German words. A wonderful memory of ours is when we had put Patrick in the car after visiting a good friend and she looked in and said to him: “Later Dude” and he grinned at her and repeated: “dude” in the cutest ever way. She was fair chuffed to have been the one to teach him that!
One day he surprised patients at the local GP's with his level of vocabulary at such a tender age. We had been waiting a while and young Patrick had provided all of the other people waiting with reading material. He was never shy and would go up to anyone and interact with them. He then brought a children's book to a lady and proceeded looking at it with her. There were animals in the book and he pointed at one and said: “Moose”. Indeed, it was a picture of a Moose and the lady was fair impressed until I said he knew the word because we had oven gloves with Mooses on them. :)
It is hard to summarise our little fella – there was just so much to him and there aren't enough words to do him and hist short life justice. He just showed such a wonderful little personality even that early on. In the creche, people commented how open and friendly he was. He'd go up to other parents picking up their kids and show them things. He just did not make strange with anyone really.
Yes, there were moments and days when we were glad when he was in bed. I'd be lying if I said that every day was easy and wonderful and no trouble at all; but overall he was an easy child to mind.
He had come along so much by January 25th...in his development and speech and personality. The baby was gone out of him and he was a fully fletched toddler. He had a few small sentences and spent his days soaking up information, I am sure.
We miss his little blond mop of curls.
We miss the way he said Mammy and Daddy and other words.
We miss the way he'd give hugs and kisses.
We miss his dimply smile
We miss the way we'd check on him at night, open the door ever so slightly and would have to back out really quickly if there was any sudden movement – for fear we'd wake him!
We miss the way our days had a routine that was sort of based around him.
We miss picking him up from the creche, full of smiles.
We miss taking him out to his grandparents on a Sunday.
We miss him asking to watch Shaun the Sheep or Timmy Time after coming home from creche. (his/my portable DVD player has been untouched since he died – still containing the DVD he last watched).
We miss not having him around anymore.
We miss him for who he was and for who he was going to grow up to be.
Maybe somehow he knew he was not meant to be around for long and maybe that is why he made his time with us so precious and memorable. We love him and miss him always.
Patrick - Part 1
So, how exactly did we get there? After we got married in October 2007, we decided to wait a little while before starting a family but eventually thought about 9 months later that starting to try might do no harm. We got confirmed that we were expecting around the middle of August 2008, after numerous trips to the doctor and a number of negative test results.
Patrick just about a week and a bit old.
We went public but allowed ourselves additional privately funded scans, the first of which we took August 30th. It was lovely seeing the baby grow. We wanted to know what we were having but Patrick appeared to be having a little identity crisis early on. First we were told they thought it might be a boy, then we were told definitely a girl and then we were back to a boy again.
Thanks to my white coat hypertension that seemed to intensify every time I set foot into the Maternity, I was closely monitored and we actually got quite a number of scans in the end.
Patrick measured a bit on the small side so it was decided that I should be brought in just shy of 39 weeks and be induced. At the start of the pregnany, I had hoped for an all natural experience but especially in light of the induction process, I was quite happily convinced the epidural might turn out to be a very good friend indeed.
I was kept in on Thursday 2nd April and they started inducing then. They would have kept me in over night to monitor the blood pressure anyway and gave me the choice to do that and come back Monday for induction or try straight caway. I figured my chances of being home and out of there in time for the big Heineken Cup match the following weekend would be higher if they started trying straight away, so in I went.
Nothing really happened until Sunday morning 1.30 am when eventually my waters broke. I texted Pat, who was ready to jump into the car that minute but I told him it could be ages yet and to wait til the morning. I spent the rest of the night pacing the floors to keep up the contractions and Pat joined me mid-morning.
By 11am we were brought over to the labour ward and got settled in. They took my bloods and sent them off to check I was suitable for the epidural. In the meantime they hooked me up to various things, contraction-intensifying stuff among it. I made use of the gas and air but found it ineffective as the drugs seemed to make the contractions way too strong. I was never quite sure if one was going or another coming. There was no natural relief between them...just lesser and stronger pain.
Once the epidural was in place, I was happy out waiting for things to progess.
Patrick was born at 8.52 pm on April 05th 2009. Due to the length of time between the waters going and him being born, he needed to be brought down to neo-natal to get antibiotics. They had given me them through the line and had he waited another 28 minutes, he would have gotten them through me but sure, once he was on the way, there was no waiting.
He weighed in at 5pounds and 12 ounces...small-ish but perfectly in proportion with himself.
Patrick just about a week and a bit old.
Patrick was a very relaxed and quiet baby from the start. Not much fuss about him at all. Once home and in a routine, he fed at 10-ish, 2-ish and again 6ish so we did not have too much trouble with the night feeds.
He was happy out being brought for walks in his buggy and I spent hours walking around with him whenever I could. Patrick was very smiley and had a lovely dimple just on one side of his face. I guess the other side did have one too but much less pronounced.
The weeks and months flew by and he gained weight and grew, eventually hitting the average percentile and growing along there nicely. He remained laid back and relaxed – probably a trait he got from his daddy's side of the family.
Himself and me went on a little road trip in July 2009 visiting good friends in Dublin and Wexford. He was a model visitor and invited the come and stay again, in any case.
I was really enjoying maternity leave with him.
How did we get here?
January 25th 2011 started almost like any other day in terms of our daily routine with a 21 month old toddler. Only I was away with work and it was my husband who got himself and our son ready for the day. As per usual, Patrick was given his morning boba of milk, a wonderful tool to distract him from the whole getting dressed lark. Daddy and son had a bit of fun with the Tigger PJ's playing: "What does the tiger say?" routine. Then it was downstairs and off to the creche.
Patrick pointed at the cars outside informing Daddy which was "Mammy's car" and which was "Daddy's car" and appeared maybe a bit puzzled at being put in "Mammy's Car" by Daddy for a change. He smiled the short journey down to the creche and walked in the door all by himself.
My husband informed the creche staff that our son may be sleepy earlier than usual as he had not slept as well as he normally would and left a chirpy enough little boy to play with his friends for the day.
Funnily, I had not slept that well myself back in the hotel in Berlin. I was at a client meeting and it was just after lunch when I saw my phone going off silently. Pat would rarely call during the day - especially knowing I would be in a meeting so I immediately got a sort of a bad feeling, disconnected the call and quickly messaged him asking was all ok.
"No. Not breathing." came the answer and I began to panic. I left the room pretty much oblivious to all and, pacing the hall, tried to call my husband - my fingers would not function for me properly. I kept mistyping, hitting the wrong keys. I could not get through to Pat. I tried the creche. No answer. I called my office and, panicking more and more, relaid to my boss what I knew. My son was not breathing. Was my son dying? What the hell happened?
I tried Pat again and eventually got through. He was on his way to follow the ambulance to the hospital. The creche had called to say Patrick's breathing was laboured and things did not look good. My head was a mess. Pat promised to let me know as soon as he could - once he knew more.
Never in my life have I felt further away from home. I just wanted to be there. Not stuck in Berlin.
One of the people in the meeting saw me in the corridor, probably white as a sheet and asked was everything OK. I told him what happened and he helped get my stuff and brought me down to reception. He said if I needed anything at all, just to let them know and wished me the best of luck.
On the way to the hotel, I spoke with my boss, I think and said I needed to get home right now. She got onto the travel agent for me. In the hotel I tried to get an update from Pat but I think I was unable to get through.
Then I called my parents and told my mam that my son was dying. I had a very bad feeling. This was not going to end well. My mam tried to give me hope and told me to wait for news.
I just threw all my stuff into my suitcase and got ready to leave. In the lift down to reception I got the text message from Pat: "Sproggy passed away 5 mins ago."
I thought I was going to pass out. Pretty much almost hysterically crying I arrived at reception and told them my son had died and I needed to check out and get home asap. They were very kind and let me use the phone as I sat near reception (the only place with very good wifi coverage) and waited for news on my flight home.
The Limerick travel agent was brilliant in sorting me out. I would arrive in Cork at 11 pm but I had to leave for the airport right away. As I was waiting for the Taxi, I told people. I called my parents who completely broke down and went hysterical. Not the kind of reaction I needed at that point. I am hazy as to who else I spoke to but know I told my brother-in-law's fiancee in Sweden through Facebook. She called me and asked if that was for real...even I wasn't sure of that at that particular point.
I had not a clue what had happened. He'd been fine. He was healthy. Was it the ear infection that had been plaguing him a while? Was it that virus that somehow took hold? I had so many questions and was still a long time away from hugging my husband who was going through all of this by himself. Why couldn't I be there for him? His family live close and they did join him as soon as they found out. But again, Berlin may as well have been the moon - it felt that far away.
Once at the airport, I somehow made it through all the check points. As I was sitting there, waiting, my sister texted to tell me to find someone in the airport - samaritan or something. Just so I would not be alone. I went back to the passport control person, explained what happened and asked if they had a chaplain or something similar. He kindly went off enquiring straight away but came back saying they did not but that he had let someone know.
Soon after, two airport police came to me and sat down beside me. A man and a woman. The man asked if I felt I was even able to board that flight and should he ask for a doctor for me. I responded that I just had to get home, come hell or high water. The lady then sat with me while he went off informing the airline and Heathrow airport where I would have a stop-over. They stayed with me for a long time and were extremely nice.
I also received a call from a priest we are friendly with - I had texted him with the news. Initially, he thought it was my husband who had died (both husband and son having the name Patrick can cause a bit of confusion in some circumstances). In fairness, who would expect a healthy toddler to die all of a sudden!
The journey was long but was made so much more bearable by the airline staff. One stewardess sat with me pretty much the entire time. She plied me with strong tea containing at least 8 spoons of sugar, held my hand, asked me about Patrick and was just there. They arranged for someone to meet me off the plane in Heathrow and shepherd me through the airport to my connecting flight. As there was waiting time, I got put into the Aer Lingus Gold Circle Lounge for privacy and a sister kept me company there. She tried to get me to eat but I just could not. I just felt sick.
By then, people messaged me on facebook. People/Family we know in London offered to come to the airport. Everyone was shocked. I showed the sister pictures I had on my laptop and somehow the time until the flight was due to leave passed. Again, the staff were very kind. They left it up to me to decide whether I wanted to board first or last. I opted for the latter.
Finally we touched down in Cork. I felt numb, tired, wired, shocked all at the same time. I thought about my husband and how badly I wanted to hold him. I thought of my son and how badly I wanted to hug and kiss him.
I was met by Pat's aunt and uncle who drove me as far as Buttevant where we met up with Pat and his dad. Pat's aunt and uncle were wonderful and said many helpful and kind things on that journey. - Most of which I have forgotten - but the feeling of being cared for is still with me and will be for the rest of my life.
In Buttevant we did not have to wait long for Pat and my father-in-law. I was so glad to see my husband. I think we just hugged and then sat in the back of the car, holding each other, mostly in silence. They did fill me in on what happened, too.
When Pat got to the creche, the paramedics were already working on Patrick who was lying on the changing room floor. He had gone down for nap-time as usual. Messing around a good while before eventually going to sleep. The kids are checked on every 10 minutes when sleeping. When they started to get the kids up after their naps, they left Patrick until last as he had not been sleeping well the night before. But when they got to his cot, they knew straigth away he did not look right. The girl who picked him up, knew straight away something was very wrong, started CPR immediately and called the ambualance. Then they called Pat and told him about the laboured breathing. I am sure they knew it was serious but Pat himself could have ended up in the ditch if he'd thought the worst at that point already.
My husband said that he felt the minute he saw our son that he was gone. They continued to work on him on the way to and in the hospital. Pat told me there were over a dozen people in that room trying everything under the sun to get our boy back. Nothing was working.
In the meantime, Pat's family began arriving. Pat was in and out of the room where they were working on our little darling. Eventually, the main doctor said that it was about time to stop. Nobody really wanted to, it seemed, and they carried on for a short while but finally, they stopped.
Pat and the others were given all the time in the world. They got to hold him, say good bye and they got to carry him down to where the post mortem would take place. People just quietly made way for them and said prayers. The coroner said he'd do the post mortem straight away so that we would be able to pick him up that evening still and bring him home.
As we made our way from Buttevant to home, our little darling was in his cot upstairs where he would have normally been, too. When we got in the door, Pat's mom was there; waiting. His siblings had just left. We headed up to Patrick's room, stood in front of his cot, stroked his curly head of hair and cheeks and silently asked ourselves:
How did we get here?
Patrick pointed at the cars outside informing Daddy which was "Mammy's car" and which was "Daddy's car" and appeared maybe a bit puzzled at being put in "Mammy's Car" by Daddy for a change. He smiled the short journey down to the creche and walked in the door all by himself.
My husband informed the creche staff that our son may be sleepy earlier than usual as he had not slept as well as he normally would and left a chirpy enough little boy to play with his friends for the day.
Funnily, I had not slept that well myself back in the hotel in Berlin. I was at a client meeting and it was just after lunch when I saw my phone going off silently. Pat would rarely call during the day - especially knowing I would be in a meeting so I immediately got a sort of a bad feeling, disconnected the call and quickly messaged him asking was all ok.
"No. Not breathing." came the answer and I began to panic. I left the room pretty much oblivious to all and, pacing the hall, tried to call my husband - my fingers would not function for me properly. I kept mistyping, hitting the wrong keys. I could not get through to Pat. I tried the creche. No answer. I called my office and, panicking more and more, relaid to my boss what I knew. My son was not breathing. Was my son dying? What the hell happened?
I tried Pat again and eventually got through. He was on his way to follow the ambulance to the hospital. The creche had called to say Patrick's breathing was laboured and things did not look good. My head was a mess. Pat promised to let me know as soon as he could - once he knew more.
Never in my life have I felt further away from home. I just wanted to be there. Not stuck in Berlin.
One of the people in the meeting saw me in the corridor, probably white as a sheet and asked was everything OK. I told him what happened and he helped get my stuff and brought me down to reception. He said if I needed anything at all, just to let them know and wished me the best of luck.
On the way to the hotel, I spoke with my boss, I think and said I needed to get home right now. She got onto the travel agent for me. In the hotel I tried to get an update from Pat but I think I was unable to get through.
Then I called my parents and told my mam that my son was dying. I had a very bad feeling. This was not going to end well. My mam tried to give me hope and told me to wait for news.
I just threw all my stuff into my suitcase and got ready to leave. In the lift down to reception I got the text message from Pat: "Sproggy passed away 5 mins ago."
I thought I was going to pass out. Pretty much almost hysterically crying I arrived at reception and told them my son had died and I needed to check out and get home asap. They were very kind and let me use the phone as I sat near reception (the only place with very good wifi coverage) and waited for news on my flight home.
The Limerick travel agent was brilliant in sorting me out. I would arrive in Cork at 11 pm but I had to leave for the airport right away. As I was waiting for the Taxi, I told people. I called my parents who completely broke down and went hysterical. Not the kind of reaction I needed at that point. I am hazy as to who else I spoke to but know I told my brother-in-law's fiancee in Sweden through Facebook. She called me and asked if that was for real...even I wasn't sure of that at that particular point.
I had not a clue what had happened. He'd been fine. He was healthy. Was it the ear infection that had been plaguing him a while? Was it that virus that somehow took hold? I had so many questions and was still a long time away from hugging my husband who was going through all of this by himself. Why couldn't I be there for him? His family live close and they did join him as soon as they found out. But again, Berlin may as well have been the moon - it felt that far away.
Once at the airport, I somehow made it through all the check points. As I was sitting there, waiting, my sister texted to tell me to find someone in the airport - samaritan or something. Just so I would not be alone. I went back to the passport control person, explained what happened and asked if they had a chaplain or something similar. He kindly went off enquiring straight away but came back saying they did not but that he had let someone know.
Soon after, two airport police came to me and sat down beside me. A man and a woman. The man asked if I felt I was even able to board that flight and should he ask for a doctor for me. I responded that I just had to get home, come hell or high water. The lady then sat with me while he went off informing the airline and Heathrow airport where I would have a stop-over. They stayed with me for a long time and were extremely nice.
I also received a call from a priest we are friendly with - I had texted him with the news. Initially, he thought it was my husband who had died (both husband and son having the name Patrick can cause a bit of confusion in some circumstances). In fairness, who would expect a healthy toddler to die all of a sudden!
The journey was long but was made so much more bearable by the airline staff. One stewardess sat with me pretty much the entire time. She plied me with strong tea containing at least 8 spoons of sugar, held my hand, asked me about Patrick and was just there. They arranged for someone to meet me off the plane in Heathrow and shepherd me through the airport to my connecting flight. As there was waiting time, I got put into the Aer Lingus Gold Circle Lounge for privacy and a sister kept me company there. She tried to get me to eat but I just could not. I just felt sick.
By then, people messaged me on facebook. People/Family we know in London offered to come to the airport. Everyone was shocked. I showed the sister pictures I had on my laptop and somehow the time until the flight was due to leave passed. Again, the staff were very kind. They left it up to me to decide whether I wanted to board first or last. I opted for the latter.
Finally we touched down in Cork. I felt numb, tired, wired, shocked all at the same time. I thought about my husband and how badly I wanted to hold him. I thought of my son and how badly I wanted to hug and kiss him.
I was met by Pat's aunt and uncle who drove me as far as Buttevant where we met up with Pat and his dad. Pat's aunt and uncle were wonderful and said many helpful and kind things on that journey. - Most of which I have forgotten - but the feeling of being cared for is still with me and will be for the rest of my life.
In Buttevant we did not have to wait long for Pat and my father-in-law. I was so glad to see my husband. I think we just hugged and then sat in the back of the car, holding each other, mostly in silence. They did fill me in on what happened, too.
When Pat got to the creche, the paramedics were already working on Patrick who was lying on the changing room floor. He had gone down for nap-time as usual. Messing around a good while before eventually going to sleep. The kids are checked on every 10 minutes when sleeping. When they started to get the kids up after their naps, they left Patrick until last as he had not been sleeping well the night before. But when they got to his cot, they knew straigth away he did not look right. The girl who picked him up, knew straight away something was very wrong, started CPR immediately and called the ambualance. Then they called Pat and told him about the laboured breathing. I am sure they knew it was serious but Pat himself could have ended up in the ditch if he'd thought the worst at that point already.
My husband said that he felt the minute he saw our son that he was gone. They continued to work on him on the way to and in the hospital. Pat told me there were over a dozen people in that room trying everything under the sun to get our boy back. Nothing was working.
In the meantime, Pat's family began arriving. Pat was in and out of the room where they were working on our little darling. Eventually, the main doctor said that it was about time to stop. Nobody really wanted to, it seemed, and they carried on for a short while but finally, they stopped.
Pat and the others were given all the time in the world. They got to hold him, say good bye and they got to carry him down to where the post mortem would take place. People just quietly made way for them and said prayers. The coroner said he'd do the post mortem straight away so that we would be able to pick him up that evening still and bring him home.
As we made our way from Buttevant to home, our little darling was in his cot upstairs where he would have normally been, too. When we got in the door, Pat's mom was there; waiting. His siblings had just left. We headed up to Patrick's room, stood in front of his cot, stroked his curly head of hair and cheeks and silently asked ourselves:
How did we get here?
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