Letter to Matt

To Matt
"Its probably nothing serious but, if it does not clear up, go to the delivery ward" The Midwife was calm and reassuring when I found a quiet place to call from work.
Two days later, watching a scan of kicking baby, one clearly very much alive –the words of the consultant made little sense.
"I am sorry - its very sad but its looking likely, well inevitable infact, that you are going to lose your baby. We will operate in the morning to do what we can but its is unlikely to work"
She was kind Matt, but she really wanted us to understand and to prepare ourselves that you were going to die. As if such preparation were really possible.
The operation did not work.
Yes you were still alive, and I in fact would still feel you moving and kicking over the next 5 agonising days; but it was explained, the birth process itself would probably kill you, and if not, you would not survive more than a minute or so on delivery. "Sometimes they give little gasps".
Over the next week or so your Dad and I made the hospital our home. We reminded ourselves we only had a few weeks to go and then you would stand a better chance of survival. We were encouraged by what we thought was the increasing surprise of the medical team, when they saw we were still there as the week wore on. Less and less I was asked if I wanted to induce labour "to get things over", more and more I had whispers of encouragement and, even, stories of the odd case like this that had made it to a live birth, months later. We were not daft Matt, we knew the chances were slim, but we wanted to know we had done all we could for you.
Matt, sometimes I wonder if you knew even before we did. The night before the call to the Midwife I had a vivid dream: I saw beautiful gossamer and diamonds, silk down and glistening, shimmering threads wafting peacefully. If I close my eyes I can see it all again: A baby's face clearly visible, and one hand pushing against a soft membrane, gently relaxing again. The handprint darkened as it pressed, lightened again as it released. The baby is at peace, smiling serenely, chuckling and giggling, now laughing loudly, moving upward and right towards a penetratingly bright light. Was that you letting me know you would be alright?
I do hope you were in no pain Matt, and that you were already laughing your way to that light long before your awful, complicated and lengthy birth started.
We spent the next few days with you; we took photos, took hand and foot prints – uncannily as in the dream; I made sketches and we dropped back to the hospital to see you as much as we could. You were beautiful and perfect, but so sadly just too small to survive.
I am playing Aretha Franklin "I say a little prayer for you" and one day, when I can, I will paint the picture of you in the dream, my beautiful little boy.
For now, here is a picture of O-Jizoo-sama from Japan. He is the guardian of children like you who have died before their parents. He’s holding a little baby like you. The baby is even wearing a bib. Its comforting that you, and all the babies like you, have a guardian like him.
It’s a half a year since your birth-and-death Matt but you are missed as much as if it was yesterday. We think about you and will love you always. We are so very sad that you have gone.
Sleep tight,
Love Mummy