I remember you Cameron.
I remember when we first found out we were pregnant with you. I remember crying with joy, fear and anticipation.
I remember your first movements. I remember your last movements. I remember all your movements.
I remember watching my tummy move when you moved. I remember wanting to savour every moment.
I remember how you responded when I spoke to you, when I sang to you.
I remember the first time we heard your heartbeat. I remember the first time we saw you at the ultrasound. It was amazing.
I remember when we found out you were a boy. I cried. Both your grandmothers cried too.
I remember choosing your cot and all your clothes. I remember picking those bodysuits for you with your dad, little blue and white ones with trucks and excavators on them.
I remember reading week by week how much you had grown.
I remember how you kept me company while I worked. I remember how I was never alone, because you were with me.
I remember the utter joy and warmth of carrying you inside me.
I remember fearing how I would cope being a mother. I remember looking forward to meeting you so, so much.
I remember the excitement of those last few weeks. I remember how your dad could hardly contain himself. We were so ready for you to enter our lives and make us into a family of three…
I remember when I sensed you hadn’t moved for a while. I remember the dread, the fear.
I remember the drive down to the hospital.
I remember the room, how cold and hostile it felt.
I remember the numbness, the pain, the shock and the disbelief that swept over me when I saw on the ultrasound machine that your heart no longer beat.
The stillness, I remember the stillness.
I remember becoming hysterical. I remember clinging onto your dad, how we desperately sought comfort in each other’s arms and tears.
I remember the amazing strength your dad displayed that night. Your dad is an amazing man, Cameron. I’m sure you would’ve grown up to be like him.
I remember your grandparents coming into the room, the shock and pain on all their faces.
I remember going home that night. I remember the darkness. Our world had become darkness.
I remember soaking the bed with tears. I remember our cries, our grief, our shock, our pain, our disbelief.
I remember desperately seeking solace in your dad’s arms. I remember not being able to let go of him.
I remember crying out to God. Was he there? Did he care? How could he let this happen?
I remember the dread and fear of giving birth to you and having to meet you dead, not alive.
I remember not feeling you move that night.
I remember the stillness. And with that, the emptiness.
I remember how your dad took the lead the next day. I remember listening to him and doing everything he said. I wouldn’t have gotten through the day without him.
I remember the delivery room. I remember the voice in my head, telling me how I had to be strong, and get through this.
I remember my waters being broken. I remember the contractions, the labouring, the exhaustion. I remember being so tired that I fell asleep between contractions.
I remember the pushing and I remember seeing your dad’s excitement growing as he watched you enter the world.
I remembering seeing you and holding you for the first time. I remember crying. I remember the joy and I remember the sadness.
The stillness, I remember your stillness.
I remember holding your head as your dad bathed you. I remember watching him dress you in the bodysuit that we had chosen. I remember you being wrapped in the blanket that was Eleanor’s present.
I remember your grandparents and your aunties holding you in turn. I remember the sadness and the grief in everyone’s eyes.
I remember those few hours we spent together later in the evening, just the three of us. Your dad and I took turns holding you in our arms.
I remember kissing your face. I remember holding your hand. I remember smelling your skin. I remember that smell.
I remember crying. I remember grieving. I remember not wanting that day to end.
I remember when we had to say goodbye. It was heart-breaking.
I remember wrapping you up one last time and watching your dad place you gently in the tub. I remember leaving teddy with you.
I remember kissing you one last time.
I remember the mid-wife coming in and wheeling you away. I remember your dad and I clinging onto each other as we watched you leave our lives forever.
It was six months ago today, and our lives have not been the same since.
We remember you, Cameron.
We love you and we remember you. We will never forget you.
I remember you.