Dear Andrew,

So today is the big day.  Your one year anniversary.

After my water broke we knew we had to head into the hospital.  I cleaned up as much as I could, called your grandmother and packed my bag.  Your father and I left for the hospital so excited and nervous at the same time.  When we got to the hospital they were extremely busy.  They asked us to wait in the entry until we were called up.  At this point I was still gushing loads of water and was so embarrassed.  It just wouldn't stop and another pair of pants was soaked through and many towels!

We finally made it upstairs where they checked us in and when I told them my water broke they asked for a sample.  I went to the bathroom to provide a sample and noticed that it wasn't clear.  We'd learned in our classes that that could be a sign you were in distress..  I gave the midwife the vile of liquid and went back out to your father.  I told him something was wrong but he told me I was wrong.  He said everything was fine. 

Due to the meconium in the water they wanted to check your heartbeat to see if you were stressed.  They brought us into a ward of sleeping and snoring women and tried to get a heartbeat.  The midwife couldn't find one and I started to worry.  Suddenly we had a couple of mjidwives around us all trying to get your heartbeat with a Doppler and one was pushing on my stomach asking you to wake up.  She even said she felt you move.  But in my gut I knew something was wrong.  Your father and I just held hands and waited.

After what seemed like ages a doctor came running (literally you could hear her and a midwife running to us).  They brought a scan machine in and the stared at the screen for awhile.  We finally heard the words I never wanted to hear.  I'm sorry but there is no heartbeat.  At that point your father and I were in shock.  We were on a ward, surrounded by midwives and a doctor giving us looks of pity while people around us snored and slept without a clue as to what was going on next to them.

At this point they asked us to come down to fetal assessment so they could check you again on a higher resolution machine.  So numbly we followed the doctor down the stairs where she examined you again.  There was no movement on this screen either so she repeated the news again.  As if we needed to hear it again!!  We could see you weren't moving and we were both shocked.  I don't think either of us made a single sound.

Once she told us you were gone I asked how they planned on delivering you.  I was told a C-section was not an option and that I had to go through a normal delivery with you.  I couldn't believe my baby had died 8 days overdue and now I was being told I had to go through labor.  It just seemed so unfair but I was in such a state of shock at the time that I didn't even question it.

They sent us home then and gave us a number to ring.  We were told if the contractions started and got strong to come back in and if not to come back in on Sunday to start induction.

We left the hospital feeling numb.  I felt like I was walking in a dream land.  Nothing made sense.  How did this happen to us?  Why did this happen to us?  All your father said on the way home was that he needed a cigarette.  Mind you he hadn't smoked in years.  Neither of us had but it seemed we were about to start again.  It was 2 am or so and we walked into town to the nearest shop.  I was waddling as I was still heavily pregnant with you.  There were drunk people everywhere and we were just walking through them all in a daze.

Looking back I often wonder what possessed us to that?  We left our apartment to wander among drunk people at 2 am after receiving the worst news of our lives.

I sent your father into the shop and then we walked home.  We sat on the deck in silence smoking.  It was the only tangible thing I could hold onto at the moment.  Tons of thoughts were running through my head.  I cant believe my son has died.  I can't believe he is still inside of me and dead.  I can't believe I have to go through labor now.

We stayed outside for awhile until we knew we had to call our parents and tell them the news.  That was one and probably always will be one of my worst memories.  Calling your grandmother and telling her the news.  She howled on the phone like I had never heard before.  She didn't know what to do and my dad just kept yelling what happened in the background.  I had to tell them you had died.  They didn't know what to say.  I just kept saying it's ok trying to comfort them and your grandfather just kept saying "no, its not ok!".  At this point I got off the phone with them.  Your father proceeded to call your other grandparents who were just as shocked.  No one knew what to say to us.

After we got off the phone we tried to get some sleep.  But there was no way I was sleeping.  My mind was racing.  I put all of your things away that were scattered throughout the house and closed the door to your room.  I felt like I was closing a door on a whole life I had planned.  It had been taken away from me so quickly that I didn't know what do except shut it away.

I wandered around the house for a couple hours as my contractions started and increased in intensity.  Finally at 7am I told you father we had to head back to the hospital.  At this point things get a bit blurry.  I know I was having strong contractions and they brought us into a room to check if I was dilated.  Apparently I wasn't so they put me in a wheelchair and brought us to a private room. 

We stayed in there for hours.  Just your father and I and occasionally a midwife to check up on us.  I was in so much pain and couldn't believe I had to go through this.  I was trying to concentrate on the contractions and the pain pushed the numbness and grief out of my mind for awhile.  Except I knew I wasn't getting to keep you at the end so none of the pain seemed worth it.  At some point before noon the pain became too much.  I felt like I was going to throw up.  I had intense pain in my lower back.  I was exhausted and the contractions were coming every 90 seconds or so.  I told your father to get a midwife and that I needed an epidural. 

I was wheeled back to labor and delivery to be checked again and was told I was 5 cm.  I still can't believe they let me get that far without paid medication when we had lost you.  I didn't want to feel that pain!  I didn't want to go through this knowing what was at the end.

A man came in and administered the epidural and it was the best thing that had happened to me that day.  I could finally rest.  I was exhausted.  The next few hours were spent sleeping.  Your father called the grandparents to give them progress updates.  My parents were frantically trying to change flights to get here and your father's parents had driven up as soon as we called them.  We were in the hospital when we were told your paternal grandmother was there and she wasn't taking no for an answer!  It was nice to know there was someone there to support us and cared enough to push her way into the hospital. 

I continued to sleep and labor for hours.  When I wasn't sleeping I stared out the window.  It was a sunny cloudless beautiful day.  And I resented it.  We live in Ireland where it's mostly overcast.  Why couldn't the weather reflect how we were feeling for once?  Why did people have to be outside enjoying life and sunshine while we were going through one of the worst experiences of our lives? 

I was in and out of it and exhausted.  They came in to check around 6 pm that night and I was fully dilated but exhausted.  They said I could push now if I wanted but I asked to wait a little bit and they allowed it.  It's not like we had to worry about you being stressed anymore. 

At 7pm they came in and said it was time.  We were going to see you shortly.  This little person we had been waiting 9 months for with such anticipation.  They asked before I started pushing if we wanted to hold you.  I was definitely going to hold you!  But then they asked about cleaning you and I said yes as I was afraid all day in meconium had made you scary looking.  I wasn't sure if you were going to come out covered in it.  I didn't know what to expect.  So I blindly answered that I would like you cleaned up before I held you (regret #1 of many).

I started pushing at 7 pm and listed to the midwives.  The two of them coached me on when to push.  One held one of my legs while your father held the other.  When they could see the head your father even had a look as I yelled at him to stop looking!  But he was so excited to see you and said they could see your full head of hair!  I gave a few more pushed and there you were.  7:23 pm on the 8th of June you came silently into this world. 

It was such a quiet room.  You always see deliveries on tv that are loud and the baby cries and no one spoke in our room from what I remember.  All I remember is silence while your father and I stared at you.  The cord was tight around your neck when you came out and around your shoulder.  They immediately said this was probably the cause of death.  The thing connecting us that kept you alive for nine months was the same thing that had killed you.

They wiped you down, weighed you, and dressed you in the outfit we had given them.  You were 8 pounds 15 ounces and 22 inches long.  I couldn't get over the size of you!  When the midwife handed you to me I felt such awe at how perfect you were.  Both your father and I couldn't get over how perfect you were.  Every parent knows what to expect when the baby is born but it was still such a feeling of shock and awe that we had created you.  That you were here with these big hands, full head of hair, tiny ears and cute button nose.  You were better than anything I had imagined or dreamt of.

We spent time holding you and cherishing you.  I finally let your father have a turn holding you.  He was such a natural!  I felt awkward and clumsy holding you and there he was holding you with ease.  At some point we asked for your grandparents to come in and meet you.  They held you and talked about how beautiful you were.  And to all of us you really were perfect. 

While in the room we took some pictures.  We needed to have something concrete of you.  I emailed the pictures to my parents so that they could see what you looked like. My biggest regret from that part of this journey is that I didn't hold you after you came out.  I don't remember what you little bum looks like or your feet even though we have footprints.  I wish I had spent more time memorizing every detail of you, this little boy who had spent nine months with me.

Eventually we had to move rooms.  Your grandparents left for the day.  They prepared to move me to another bed and wheel us to a private room down the hall.  I threw up probably from the drugs but also from the experience as a whole.  We made our way down to the private room and were left on our own.  They tried to give us some food but neither of us had any desire to eat.  Even after being told we had to eat after the day we had neither of us could stomach any food.  Your father went home to collect some things.  You were placed in the cold cot beside me and that part of our journey was over. 

I spent some time lying in bed starting at you and taking more pictures.  At some point I fell asleep but woke up startled that your father wasn't back.  I rang him immediately and asked him to come back.  He was already on his way but I couldn't cope with him being out of my sight.

He came back and put a mattress on the floor to sleep.  In the middle of the night I woke up sobbing as was going to happen a lot in the coming weeks and months.  Your father tried to comfort me but nothing was going to make me feel better.  I was in a hospital with my deceased son next to me.  What kind of life was this?

The next morning we were up early.  Midwives came in and out to see you.  Everyone commented on how much hair you had and how precious you were.  They were very kind but it made us feel like we were some kind of freak show.  It was a constant revolving door.  Midwives, doctors, people with food.  I just wanted to be left alone.

One of the midwives came in with a memory box for you.  It had a blanket and a teddy bear.  We were able to take your handprints and footprints.  We were able to cut off some locks of that curly hair.  These little things that we would never have thought of are now my most precious possessions.  Your hair is in a locket around my neck and your handprints and footprints are framed on our wall with your picture.  I cherish those few items so much since you've been gone.

After we were done with the memory box I knew I wanted to go home.  I was still feeling numb and couldn't believe all that had happened in 30 hours.  As everything was fine with me they let us go mid-afternoon that day.  This would become regret #2.  I now feel I didn't spend enough time with you.  I didn't kiss you enough, tell you I love you enough, or cuddle with you enough.  I was so afraid and didn't realize that in the future these were some of my biggest regrets.  The cold cot wasn't working, it was a warm day, and you were turning more blue by the minute.  I didn't want my memories of you to be ones where you were blue and bruised.

We left you behind that afternoon and it was one of the hardest things I have ever done.  To leave you in that cot by yourself just seemed so unfair.  What was the point of the last nine months?  Why did we have to go through all of that?  What did this mean for our future?

I still can't believe that was a year ago today.  How is that possible?  To me it still feels like it was yesterday.  To your father he has said it feels like it was lifetimes ago.  But to both of us it has been an incredibly hard year.  Everywhere we go there are reminder of you.  We always wonder what life should be like now if you were here and today we should be celebrating your first birthday.  Would you be eating cake?  Would you be walking?  All of these things that we will never know and my heart breaks anew every time I think of you.

Since I didn't say it enough when you were here, I want you to know that we love you.  We have always loved and you and will always love you.  You mean the world to us and we are so glad you were in our lives even if it was for a short period of time.