Today, as I was laughing at Dexter's attempts at blowing raspberries and silently complaining that the physiotherapist wouldn’t be seeing him until next week, potentially delaying our return to RPA, I heard an all too familiar heart wrenching cry from another mum.
I felt for her, thinking that I knew all too well what she was going through as she glimpsed her child, covered in tubes and probes, for the very first time.
However, as the grieving continued, it dawned on me that perhaps I didn’t know what she was going through, that, thankfully for our family, I wasn’t able to relate to her situation.
As slow as this process is and as much as I complain about the delays in taking Dexter home, at least I’ll get to take him home. It definitely won’t be next week and probably won’t even be next month, but he will come home.
All this mum is able to take home with her will be a broken heart and photos kindly taken by the hospital photographer.
I was told by the nurses that her baby was critical and that it wouldn’t make it. Those words broke my heart. As I sat holding Dexter, I took in every precious moment and will hold it with me for all eternity.
Words can’t describe what that mum would be going through tonight and for the rest of her life. No amount of consoling will bring her child back and that just sucks.