It only seemed right to start this blog on Thomas' 10th birthday, with the first post I wrote 9 years ago. Wishing our son was here to be excited, to open his presents and cards, and to eat his birthday cake to celebrate reaching double digits...
Shortly after the sun rose on this day last year, our lives changed forever. We welcomed into our lives our gorgeous boy, Thomas Samuel, who was perfectly formed and healthy. As we drove home later that day to start our life as a family of five, little did we know how things were going to change so dramatically for us over the coming 30 days and on.
We had already spent the past nine months preparing for his arrival - deciding on his name (assisted by my grandmother!), washing the baby clothes, sorting the attic to find all baby related items, moving Lucy and Oliver into the double bedroom, transferring Oliver out of the cot into a bed etc. I had worried about how I was going to manage getting out of the door with three under five in the mornings, especially when Lucy started school. I was looking forward to taking them together to playgroups, activities and to see friends. We were excited at the prospect that Oliver would have a little playmate and would grow up close to Thomas whilst Lucy would have the responsibility of loving and nurturing her two younger brothers. This has now all gone.
We spent the next couple of days after his arrival introducing our new little man to our immediate family, interspersed with routine medical appointments. Lucy and Oliver spent time getting to know their new baby brother and we adjusted to a new routine of feeding and nappies.
Just three days into this, Thomas fell desperately ill and from then on life as we knew it changed. The most devastating news that any parent wishes to hear came on day nine when we had that most horrendous meeting with the doctors who gently broke the news that Thomas was so severely brain damaged from his illness that he would not survive off the ventilator.
When we finally got to hold him in our arms once again we looked at our son in disbelief knowing that he would not be with us for long. Little did we know what a little fighter we had and he managed an extra 21 days, just long enough to get him home.
As we took him to bed on his final night with us, we snuggled him between us and held him tight. He was my last vision as I shut my eyes and we knew that it was unlikely he would live to see the morning.
Sat in the car next to his little coffin on the way to his funeral was surreal and will stay with me forever. How had we ended up there? Had we made the most of what we had? Would we have any regrets? It all felt so final.
One year on and many of his things remain untouched. His clothes are still in his drawers, his toys are still in his cot, his nappies are still in the changing unit.
We all talk about him lots and look at the precious photos that we have. We often visit him in the woods and go for walks there. When we do we feel closer to him, as if he is near, reaching out to touch us, filling our hearts with love and renewing our energy. Seeing our son's name on a post in the ground has been and remains a difficult thing to comprehend at times but it is a physical reminder that he was a real person who brought us so much joy.
As we journey through the next 30 days and we spend time reflecting on what we had, what we lost, what we gained and how things are now, please speak to us. Don't let there be a huge elephant in the room. We want to talk about Thomas even if no one else does. Ask us about him. Ask us how we came up with his name. Ask about my pregnancy. Ask about his life. Ask about his death. Let us talk about him. There are no words that will make us feel better but just tell us that you are sorry for our loss.
Ask us how we are feeling. If we tell you that we're fine, then know that we are not. Share with us what he meant to you. Say to us his name. Cry with us. Remember with us. Show us that you care for Thomas and for us. Give us a hug. Lend us your shoulder. Make us a cuppa. Tell us you have been to visit him in his woods. Let us know that we're not alone and isolated. Know that by doing this you are helping us cope. Know that no one wanted his life to end like this but it has so help us find every last drop of strength to get through it.
Our lives and reality are most parents' worst nightmares. We have suffered immeasurable and relentless pain and heartache. We have cried more tears than we knew were possible. We have felt drained and exhausted with it all. I have felt that I can't cope, that I have used every drop of energy and resolve until I have had no more left to give. I have been on my knees begging for the pain to stop and yet know that the high and pleasure we gained from having had Thomas in our lives far exceeds the low we are experiencing. We need everyone's support to get through this.
I am still in awe of what we have learnt from him and what such a little person can teach us. I have learnt what a huge asset our nhs is, what an amazing job hospices do and what a difference individual people can make to how you can cope with difficult situations. I have learnt to appreciate what I have, to grasp every opportunity and to know that I have an amazing family and some fantastic friends. I have felt emotions I never knew were possible for humankind to feel and I have found I have more strength than I knew to get through.
The huge chasm and his legacy that has been left behind in our lives has become part of our individual identities and our family's identity. He will continue to live on in our hearts and be with us on our journeys through life.
Happy birthday little Thomas, we so desperately miss you.
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