Sat. 11th November 2006
Saturday, 11th November 2006 – Alone in the room on the postnatal ward, I stand at the window, looking out to find a bright, crisp autumn morning. After the storm of the night we have just endured – how can it be such a beautiful morning? The sky stretches out wide and calm, as though nothing has happened. As though the world didn’t just crack open.
I stand here in utter disbelief, reeling from the night that took you from my arms. No weight to cradle. No tiny body to feed. No gentle breath to watch rising and falling as you sleep beside me. Just silence. My mind loops endlessly back through every detail, reliving the moments since your birth – the hopes, the confusion, the quiet unraveling – and the long, dark hours of the night that just passed, taking you with it.
In my mind, I am screaming. I want all of this to stop – to rewind time to that moment when I held you in my arms for the first time, when you were only just born. I float silently in my bubble of disbelief, emotionally exhausted from crying. From the window, I watch the world go about its usual Saturday morning. For a moment, I still hope the nurse will walk in and tell me this was all just a bad dream. And then it hits me – suddenly, without warning – like a huge, crashing wave knocking me to the floor:
You are gone.
Taken from me forever.
Only two days old.
This is the moment I finally let grief swallow me whole. My wall crumbles. My world collapses. My bubble bursts, and I fall to the ground, overcome with a pain unlike anything I’ve ever known. Every inch of me aches for you. I would give anything to hold you just one moment longer.
It is one of the hardest mornings of my life.
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Ten years on, I still remember all the reasons you gave me to stay strong. I feel blessed – to have carried you for nine months. To have felt the pain of your birth. To have brought you home. To have your memories lovingly kept in your special box… a treasure I hold close whenever I miss you.
And most of all, to call you my son.
Your sisters drive me crazy – every single day! I’m sure you would’ve joined the chaos too. Both are Daddy’s little girls… you might’ve been a Mummy’s boy…I’ll never know. But oh, how I imagine it. Though your time with us was brief, your impact was vast. You left a legacy of love in every heart you touched.
Today, I share the last and only picture we have of the three of us together. It was taken by the nurse who came into the family room with the doctor, moments after they told us you had died. She asked if we wanted to hold you, and gently took this photo. As hard as it may be to look at – taken after you had passed – it is a picture I will cherish forever. Our eyes in that photo speak a thousand words.
You are in my thoughts and prayers today, and every single day.
Happy 10th Birthday, Krishan.
May you continue to rest in peace, my beautiful baby boy.
Love you always,
Mummy x
Krishan Suresh Jesani
08th Nov. 2006 (15:14) – 10th Nov. 2006 (21:14)