There has been so much in the media about saving poorly children, the fight for their survival, the fight to do anything but have to bury them. I can’t imagine what these families have to go through; our daughter was only here for five weeks.
As I see the scores of angry messages, the protests, the army of people fighting for their very last rights. The media, social and otherwise are filled with these stories.
Makes me question… Did WE love our daughter enough? Did we fight or try hard enough?
We have always had questions surrounding her death – our baby had the best odds, death wasn’t in her plans, she WAS coming home, no brain damage, breathing without a ventilator, she burped, she even smiled; she had cuddles, she was fed via a tube simply because she was too tiny to have the sucking reflex, which she was fast learning.
She STILL died.
There was no time for an army, a brief message on Facebook asking for thoughts, no options of fighting when we arrived. Just the words “She won’t survive.”
I’ll always question and blame MYSELF about whether I did something wrong in my pregnancy, or had eaten something that may not have agrees with her expressed milk.
I don’t know if I loved her enough, it was hard to love someone through an incubator, did she know that we loved her?
Did we fight and beg hard enough that morning? Maybe I wasn’t strong enough to fight, I wanted to believe me, I needed them to tell me that it was just an April fool’s joke. I needed them to tell me they were wrong, but once those words had been said, like a dagger to the side, it killed me yet kept me alive at the same time. Why wasn’t I strong enough to fight for her? To keep her safe? She wasn’t meant to die.
When those fateful words of death came, the only thing I could think of doing was to hold her. To know that we loved her in her final minutes, it really was minutes, from the broken news to her final breath.
I just wish I’d held her longer, kissed her forehead. I wish I hadn’t taken our time together for granted, and took in her beauty, to remember her soft skin, the warmth of her breath, her fuzzy hair.
How were we supposed to say goodbye? We DID – DO love her. Always.
Wishes are all we have. Guarding the dreams that should have been. EVERYTHING should have been different.