What next?

So it has been two weeks almost since Baby Idrees arrived and then promptly left us too. 

My mum arrived two days after the funeral and my sister arrived a few days later. My sister stayed for five days and it was actually really nice having them here. My mum is here for another 10 days and once she heads back, my six week post c-section recovery milestone will be crossed and A will be back at work. 

We have just been trying to pick up the pieces and wonder how best to approach our lives after everything that has happened. 

We still feel so blessed and grateful to have had our baby boy for the five days we had him and to be given the gift of being parents. 

He may not be around but we will forever be his mum and dad. We both wanted, more than anything in this world, to just become a mother and father. We may not have the sleep deprivation, late night feeds, warm cuddles, occasional giggles and endless stream of nappy changes and babygro washing but do these things define parenthood any more than what we have been through?  

A still talks in his sleep, saying things like "Hi, this is Baby Idrees' dad, just wanted to check how he is doing?" As he did almost a hundred times in those five days when he would call the ICU in the middle of the night. 

I lie in bed in the mornings and the first thing I do as soon as I open my eyes is turn to my bedside table where there is a photo of him asleep. I watch over and admire this little creation for some time before I start the day. 

Our house is eerily quiet most days, with no crying newborn or fussing baby but the constant "beep beep" of monitors from the ICU still buzz somewhere silently in the background of our consciousness. 

I cherish the memories of holding him in my arms, the two opportunities that I got to do so fresh in my mind. I find myself smelling his baby blanket or his little knitted hat and being overpowered by his still strong sweet, musty distinctive baby smell. 

There isn't a day I dont find my eyes tearing up thinking about him, pouring over some of the 319 pictures we have of him or just reflecting on the entire experience. 

As is normal for a postpartum woman, sometimes I find myself sobbing during a quick five minute shower or taking a two minute time out in the kitchen. 

As is normal for a grieving parent, I sometimes get an ache in the pit of my stomach when I see pictures of friends' newborns on facebook, or find my eyes resting on the vacant spot in our bedroom I had imagined a cot would be placed. 

People have been mostly OK. Some have known exactly the right words to say. My closest friends (millions of miles away) send me messages to check up on me almost every other day. I always reply with upbeat messages about how fine I am and how great my physical recovery is going. (It really has been fantastic) 

Others somehow find a way to make anything they say seem wrong. I have heard it all but the one that bothers me the most is: 

"Don't worry, you're only 28, you will have another and many more children"- said mostly by relatives, and I can't even begin to explain how wrong and hurtful and deeply patronising this is. 

I realise most people just use stock "feel better" phrases like these when a loss or grief happens but you would never imagine saying "don't worry, you will get a replacement soon" to anyone still freshly mourning the death of someone dear would you?

This entire experience has taught me a whole new sensitivity to others' struggles. I feel like I know the right things to say now and hopefully I get to use that to benefit society somehow. 

A has been a revelation. I sometimes catch myself looking at this man and gent, just like I looked across at him on our first date when he was just 22 and I wonder when that young boy suddenly grew up into this perfectly wise man who knows exactly the right things to say always. 

He is an eternally changed man, but what a beautiful, positive change it has been. 

He has thrown himself into being a proud dad. He talks about his son 100 times a day, pours over his pictures, uses his son's memory to raise money for the marathon he is running in his memory (£1475 raised so far for the British Heart Foundation) he spends literally hours in bed talking to me, building up my confidence and sharing funny stories to make me laugh. He talks and talks to anyone willing to listen about the beautiful lessons our son has taught him. I always leave a conversation with him feeling stronger, and so proud of our entire experience and willing to live it all again exactly as it happened, in a heartbeat. 

Over Christmas we will decide on the answer to "what next?" 

I will go back to work after Easter in 2015 and have already signed up to volunteer at Alder Hey and do that cake decorating and patisserie course I have been putting off for months. I am going to have a massive cleanout once my mum leaves and donate as much as possible to PIO, so watch this space. I am going to look into booking us off for a holiday sometime in the new year and work on getting back to my most healthiest possible body by starting swimming and the gym again. 

I am going to look into completing my Samaritans training and getting some volunteer hours logged. We are going to also donate to the Alder Hey ICU and finally get around to all those many thank you letters we need to write to those wonderful staff and HCPs. 

So many plans, all because of a little baby boy. 

He has changed us forever and I am determined that despite the occasional grief, his legacy is one of beautiful and positive change. Not one day will pass where I don't wish I got to do normal "baby" things with him, but he is so much more than just a baby now. 

He is our reason to live better, be thankful and make the most of every opportunity. He may not be around to make us run around after him, but because of him, we will make small changes to our world to make it a better place.