Blopmamma is a part-time neonatal nurse. It is rare to read about life inside a neonatal unit from a staff member’s perspective. It is rarer still to read about the death of a baby from a nurse or doctor’s perspective.
Twinkle, Twinkle, the post that describes the death of the baby boy whose funeral she attended, had me in tears because it reminded me so much of Hugo’s last moments. Making sure Hugo knew that I was letting him go only because he had reached the end, not because I wanted to. I wanted more time with my precious boy – I wanted forever. I wanted to sing to him – Twinkle, Twinkle being a nursery rhyme of choice.
The baby’s funeral, too, reminds me of Hugo’s. Martin carried Hugo’s tiny coffin in to the church, as did this baby’s father. There is a Hugo-shaped hole in our lives. Our lives are dedicated to preserving Hugo’s memory, to making sure the world knows that he lived, and that he touched others’ lives.
This is the first time I have reblogged another writer’s post. Thank you, Blopmamma, for sharing how wonderful neonatal staff are, and how much you care for our babies. Thank you for everything you do for Hugo, and babies like Hugo, whether or not they go home.
This week I went to the funeral of a baby for the first time; one of the patients that I’d cared for on the last day of their short life.
I’d been to three funerals before; two as an adult which were my Grandad’s and the Northern One’s Grandma and one when I was at primary school. A boy in the year above me died and I took it very hard even though I didn’t really know him. I didn’t really understand that children could die. My mum and the school thought that maybe going to the funeral would help give me some closure so one of my mum’s friends who’s son was also going took me.
I remember her wrapping her arms around me in the church while I sobbed into her shoulder, unable to look at the white coffin that contained a boy only a few months older…
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