The reminiscent hours....

It's 11pm. September 29th.

I'm sure that those of us who can recount exactly where we were and what we were doing at certain times in our lives are actually the minority.

Four years ago I was in room twelve of the birthing suite. It had been a long and exhausting 28 hours and I wasn't even in labour.

Or at least I was now, but it was "just" prostin pain. They said. It had finally started mildly at 5pm. By now though I was slumbering, fitfully, exhausted. I'd had panadeine forte and a sleeping tablet. But by now the pains were strong enough to wake me. My midwife was sitting on the floor beside me with her hand on my almost forty two week bump and talking me through the contractions.

We didn't know.

We had anticipated his birth for so long. We still were. The world was a wonderful place. Our oyster.

But in seven and a half hours it would shatter into a million pieces and would never again be right.

::::

I have my bestie and her family staying this weekend. It's a welcome distraction from the pain that I'm having to carry. Again.

It's cruel because I'm still suffering all day nausea. Throw in a bit of faintness. And a whole lot of new exhaustion.

It messes with your mind. I admit to thinking.... "Just maybe...."

Just maybe they got it wrong. I don't see how though. No heartbeat is no heartbeat. It's not something you can miss when you've seen it so strong before.

Stillness is so defined.

I'm torn with hoping Tuesday arrives quickly so that we can move forward through what is inevitable. But of course I also want to turn back time. Nurture and treasure the last week more than perhaps I did. Monitor my thoughts and actions. Make it not happen. As if I could.

Instead the universe laughs cruelly again. Not just the death of another child, our hopes and dreams for him (her?), but the drawing out of details to ensure that every scratch, every stab, is felt over the crux of our grief season.

Tomorrow I will give to my eldest boy, as much as I can, and remember him in everything I do. As if I don't already.

::::

Tonight we had cake. Tomorrow we are out for the day and busy. I didn't want to chance the day passing without the gesture of a birthday cake, as has happened in a year or two of previous.

For the first time I sang my boy Happy Birthday, and walked into a darkened room with candles lit. I felt the hesitation of the other big people in the room.

Does she expect us to sing to?

And again a big, obvious hesitation... "Happy birthday to_____ Ciaran".

Come on peoples. It's not so hard.

But I also saw the bright anticipation in the eyes of his little brother. Still too young to understand. We are blessed. I am thankful. And I never forget it.