So it will almost have been a month since Idrees was born and passed away.
Today we will be making the trek back to Liverpool to meet with the bereavement team at Alder Hey. They so kindly gave us a moses basket when Idrees passed to help transport him from Liverpool to home for the funeral once he had passed. I still remember the car journey from Liverpool to our house so vividly, I held him so tight in the backseat of my brother in law's car and stroked his soft cheek the whole way home. I think that was the only time I cried my heart out. It was dark by then and nobody spoke a word. It was the last time I saw him because I didn't attend the funeral. I can even look back on that and smile, although a little wistfully.
So we are going back to Alder Hey to return the moses basket. They told us we could keep it but it seems wrong to deprive another family of needing it at some point. We also have a to discuss a donation for the ICU where he was cared for and some newborn nappies which hopefully they can use. It will be intense going back but I am strangely looking forward to it.
Last night we found all these videos that A had taken while bubs was alive and we watched them and smiled and laughed and cooed over them, commenting on how perfect our baby was and how amazing, as most first time parents do. There is less and less sadness every day. We are still in awe of how lucky we were to have been blessed with our baby.
At the end of the day, whether you have your child for five days or fifty years- you will have to say goodbye at some point. Idrees was just on the fast transit track, but in the scope of our infinite and large Universe which is over 7 billion years old, time is all relative anyway. 5 days are a fleeting few moments but 50 years are also just a flash of an eye really.
To be able to say: "my son was born from me and I was lucid and awake and alive, and subsequently, my son passed away in my arms and I was lucid and awake and alive" this is quite a unique and special thing. I was there for him his entire life. He never saw pain or desperation or hurt or loss or grief or jealousy or anger or trauma. He never had to compete with anyone or run the risk of having his mum or dad be frustrated at him, annoyed or angered by him. He never got shouted at or told off. He felt nothing but crazy amounts of love.
Is that not just the perfect life? He was the perfect child and we were perfect parents to him. That isn't some glib, smarmy first time mum declaration but actually true. How can you feel sad or angry or upset about that?
It is pure poetry. A beautiful life with a perfect end.
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