My Son – Life without you

Four years ago today it was a rainy grey and cold day. I woke up early that day before dawn broke with period-like cramps. It was the beginning of contractions.  I told my mom and she said to time them. So, I started timing them.  By about lunch time I realised I had not felt you move all day. A scary thought.  Why aren’t you moving? We eventually decide to call the doctor I was seeing and she said to go into hospital.  We went to hospital 12 hours after the contractions started. My sister asks what if you had died? Why would she ask such a ridiculous question?  We drop my sister and stepdad off at grandma’s house and pick up my aunt to come with us to hospital.

We arrive at the hospital and the doctor tells me not to worry. Normally the fears of mom’s are unfounded.  Only there was suddenly a long silence in the room.  I alone with the doctor, you and the nurse.  A heavy silence comes in.  The doctor says you are not living. I scarcely believed him. Why would you have died? My sister’s question ringing loudly in my ears. I was still in disbelief by the time my mom and aunt come into the room. My mom’s legs couldn’t hold her up as she sinks to the floor. She lets out a gulp of tears. The doctor says they need to do further tests. OK. I write to a few friends of mine to start praying. The baby is not living. Please pray.  I only believe that he died after further tests were conducted. Me alone in that room with the ticking clock. It was then that realisation crept in.  I left that room with a heavy heart and found my mom and aunt waiting for me.  I sink to the floor, no longer able to keep myself from standing and I crumble into a crying mess. I cry. I scream. I am not sure if any of it is real. I feel like I have been swallowed by some horrible nightmare. That it must all be some terrible joke. A joke gone wrong. But it isn’t a joke. It becomes rapidly my reality.

The coming days in hospital are really difficult.  Time no longer has meaning. I am just living in this meaningless vacuum.  Not really knowing how to go on.  I am told I will die to. I am ready to die. I made my peace with God. I want to die. I don’t want to live with this pain. How would I cope with the pain after you died? How would life go on? Was it even possible that life could move on? I don’t know what to do. Except listen to quiet worship music. To pray and to seek God’s presence. But even I didn’t want to do that. Meanwhile someone from church had given birth to a health baby the day you died. How was that even possible?  One person gets to take their baby home. The other doesn’t?

The first year was hard after you died. That first year I mainly cried. That second year I mainly cried. I was speaking death over my life. I didn’t want to live. But I prayed. I sought solitude. I spent a lot of time with God to try and figure out the mess that I was in. I was angry with you Sebastian for dying. I was angry at God for allowing it to happen. I was angry that I had to say goodbye to you. How come whenever a happy thing occurs it is short lived? I really didn’t understand the meaning of life after you died. It was a living nightmare. Writing helped me to process my thoughts. Painting helped me to wreck pure white canvases. It helped me to get rid of all that rage inside of me.  And yet I still miss you? I still grieve you. I still mourn your loss openly.  You were a part of me. That day, that awful day four years go today something inside of me died. Life continued of course.

I gradually picked up the broken puzzle pieces of my life. Wrote to get rid of all that pent up emotions inside of me. Wrote heaps. Spent a lot of time alone with God. Cried bucket loads? My life now? My faith has matured since your untimely death. A book got published. I am studying to become a counsellor. I got my driving license. I learned to live by faith rather than by my own strength. I learned to be honest about my emotions. I learned not to be afraid of them. I learned to live more assertively. Would I say that I am living my life? Yes, I suppose I am.

Am I a mom to another child? No, I am not. Today, I feel like it would be a betrayal to who you were. Do I want to be a mom? Sometimes. It varies from day to day. Have I learned to forgive myself? Yes, I suppose I have. Do I live with anger? Yes, sometimes I still get angry that you are dead and I am alive. Have I got peace? For the large part. But I miss you. There is not a day that doesn’t go by where I don’t think of you. I love you Sebastian. Always have, always will.

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