Little Bunny

We sat there for what felt like an eternity clutching Arlo in our arms. Clutching Arlo in our arms as if that would stop our hearts from splintering. Prof came back in at some point and listened carefully to Arlo’s chest. I knew he had gone, but still I desperately hoped they were wrong and stupidly I held my breath as he listened in. We knew he was no longer with us, but we were suspended, in limbo; we didn’t need confirmation, but we did. We needed to know if the last spark, the last smoke of the candle had evaporated. That bright-shining flame had been extinguished forever.

I held my breath just in case he found the faintest of heartbeats; in case Arlo was still with us and they could intervene and bring him back.

They say love is blind, but hope is too.

He confirmed what we already knew.

He had gone.

The light that had lit up for lives for 6 weeks and one precious day had gone out, the last beats of his heart floated to the sky like the smoke from that blown-out candle.

With that we were on our own again, cradling our precious boy in our arms.

Numb.

Completely and utterly numb.

In that moment we learned what it was like to love someone so deeply through the remains of a shattered heart.

Molly and Amy came in, they didn’t even try to hide the fact they were distraught, truly heartbroken for us. That in itself meant so much, they didn’t pretend, so we didn’t have to either. Everything they did was with our blessing, everything they did was on our terms, on our terms because he was our baby. I helped them take Arlo’s hand and foot prints. They bathed him for me as I didn’t feel this was something I could do. Watching the way they bathed him, gently cleaning him, handling him with such care and dignity truly warmed the pieces of my heart. I dried him after his bath and I put a nappy on him, a nappy that would never be used for it’s purpose, but what’s a baby without their squishy nappy bum? I dressed him, I felt so strongly about doing this. I browsed the selection of tiny baby clothes they brought to me, Arlo weighing no more in death than he did at birth. Finally selecting a simple blue and white striped baby-gro, a white knitted cardigan, white hat and white booties, I dressed him. Nothing special, my nod to normality. I didn’t need to dress him up in something special, he already was. I just wanted him to be a baby. Our baby.

Day didn’t feel this was something he could do, and here I learned that I had to let him do his own thing, deal with things in his own way. I had to let him do as much or as little as he chose, forcing him into doing something he didn’t feel he could do wouldn’t help him, or me. He was there for us both, but I had to respect that he wanted to deal with what was happening in his own way and that was okay. If I forced him to do something he didn’t feel he could, I was in danger of him needing to leave the room, to get away for a while. And I couldn’t bear that thought. I knew he wanted to be in the room with us and a part of everything. He lay there watching, but would turn away if all got too much. I had to allow him those moments just as he was allowing me to do what my instinct as a mother was telling me to do.

Once Arlo was dressed however, we lay there and cuddled him together and cried. We also took turns holding him and cuddling him, and we took turns lying on the bed and sobbing till the tears wouldn’t come anymore, but after a quick reprieve, the next flood was ready. Day kept apologising to Arlo, he just kept repeating that he was sorry. I knew he was apologising for not being able to save him and it truly broke my heart. If our love could have saved him, nurtured him, made him grow, he’d still be with us and thriving.

We text close friends and family, the exact words were:

‘With a broken heart we let you know that Arlo passed away in our arms this afternoon.’

We asked those close friends and family to let wider friends and family know on our behalf. We received an outpouring of genuine love in return. We spoke to our parents and somehow, we spoke to Alfie. There were no tears, and despite the fact we cradled Arlo in our aching arms, we managed to summon the strength to speak to him. Don’t ask me how because I don’t know. We didn’t tell him at this point that his brother had died, we wanted to tell him in person, with our arms wrapped around him. We would have that bitter-sweet moment where he had his mummy back after 9 long weeks away, but would learn that his brother had been taken in return. The definition of bitter-sweet.

The pendulum today swung to its own rhythm. Time was immeasurable.

We were given a box with keepsakes in, his hand and foot prints and his towel, as well as other gorgeous trinkets. A place where we could add whatever we chose.

The nurses explained that someone from the honeysuckle team would phone us and arrange to see us tomorrow. I had no idea what the honeysuckle team were, but I nodded. It was too late in the day for them to come now, and so it was.

We decided we needed to get out of the room for a while, but that we wanted to come back and see Arlo later that evening. The nurses took Arlo and explained that he could go back in his space in Nursery 7 for now, but that later after we visited he would go downstairs.

Downstairs. I knew they meant the mortuary. But I couldn’t even go there or I wouldn’t cope. ‘Downstairs’ was fine with me. They explained that we could have stayed in the hospital room overnight, but we didn’t feel right staying on the neonatal ward. It was decided we would stay at the flat.

They wheeled Arlo out and back to join his friend Lily for one last visit.

We scooped up some of our belongings as well as a few of Arlo’s things, so we didn’t have as much to carry later. Arlo’s little white bunny perched on top of one of the bags. His bunny has been with him all through his neonatal journey. And through my PPROM journey and hospital stay. Since my waters broke, this was one of the two bunnies I bought in Marks and Spencer. I’d bought them in the midst of the uncertainty of the outcome. If I was to miscarry (HATE that word) before I reached viability (DETEST that word) then Arlo would have only been tiny, so I carefully chose two small bunnies. One for him and one for us. I’d kept one in my bag and the other one I’d slept with every single night since I bought it so I could give it to baby when they were born. Now the bunny had lain desolate on the bed, I couldn’t help but feel he was grieving too. It’s ok bunny, can sleep in my empty arms tonight.

We didn’t want Arlo to be lonely, so we left Pluto with him. Alfie had bought him Pluto from the Disney Store and Pluto had been with him for the most part of his NICU stay. I had a grey bunny back at the flat that I had slept with every night since Arlo was born, I would bring with me when we returned later.

We left the hospital in silence, unlike us, always a plan, something to be done, yet today we meandered aimlessly. I didn’t notice my surroundings, but I didn’t have tunnel-vision with a fixed mind either. I was just lost. Bobbing along with the tide, lost, with no idea how to find the shore.

Bleary-eyed we walked down the now-familiar road to get to the flat. A stones throw as the crow flies, yet we were forced into walking into the centre of the spiral, through the passcode protected gate, to reach our destination.

As we rounded the corner onto the main road, Day came to an abrupt halt and looked at me in panic. It took me a good few seconds to realise what he was reacting to. I followed his shocked gaze to the floor, as I looked down his gaze rebounded to my face.

Arlo’s bunny was face-down, in the only puddle on the pavement.

I stood a few seconds in disbelief.

Little bunny looked how I felt. Limp, listless, uncaring, face-down in the black abyss. No words could express my emotions, but the tableau gave the perfect portrayal. No longer floundering, just drowning.

Day waited. I could tell was waiting for me to lose it in the middle of a busy street. Throw myself on the floor sobbing. Storm off shouting at him. Run down the road wailing. And I was probably well within my rights to do so.

I shocked myself.

I laughed. I chuckled. I shook my head in disbelief.

It wasn’t Day’s fault, there was no blame. It’s like little bunny had chosen the one spot that could do the most damage and edged himself out of the bag.

What were the bloody chances?

Day stared at me for a few extra seconds, just to check my reaction was genuine and to check I hadn’t ‘lost it’ in a different way! (Maybe I had!)

It was genuine and he visibly relaxed. I lowered myself down to rescue the sorry, soggy bunny from the shallow, dingy puddle. His soft, white fur now dirty brown and clumpy, his ears limp and heavy clinging to his sides. He looked like life had got the better of him, it was all too much. He couldn’t go on without his best friend, Arlo. It was like looking into a mirror.

I shook the worst of the puddle-water off and looked at Day (who was still eyeing me with vague caution) I smiled and said, “what we’re the chances of that happening?” We both managed a small smile and a chuckle! I followed it up by thanking Arlo for making us smile today. We would take bunny home, give him a nice warm bath (the washing machine) and a nice warm towel (with him in the tumble dryer) a bit of TLC, ready to come to bed with us tonight.

The next few hours were spent sloping around the flat, showering and taking it in turns to break our hearts sobbing with the other one supporting. These moments came in waves; tsunamis breaking the calm, albeit black, horizon.

It wasn’t just the constant shock waves of realisation that Arlo had died, it was also the enormity of what was coming. One thing that broke me was the thought of the funeral, I decided there and then that Arlo was not going to go in the ground, he would be cremated and come home to rest with us. Tragically I’d seen a mother’s soul-crushing pain as her boy was lowered into the ground before and I couldn’t do it. I’d also decided the curtains at the crematorium would not close. We would leave when we were ready. It wasn’t like I was already planning his funeral, I was eliminating things from past experiences that (I thought) would cause us more pain.

Returning to the hospital that night was strange. We didn’t have Arlo there, but we did. He was still with us, physically and we were eager to see him. We still walked the same route and pressed the familiar buzzer for Nursery 7 for what could be the last time.

We went back to the room where we had spent the afternoon. Here we spend some more time with Arlo in our arms. The night-shift nurses were now on and we had frequent knocks at the door. Nurse after nurse came in to offer their condolences, their kind words and meaningful hugs meant the world to us. They came and saw Arlo and told him how truly beautiful he was. They made us feel like parents and that they were the family and friends visiting to meet our new arrival. Over the last few weeks they had become our family.

Nursing isn’t just a ‘job’ and these nurses cared so deeply about their patients and their families. The beautiful, moving things they said offered us so much comfort at a time when we needed it the most.

The broken pendulum had swung again and after an immeasurable amount of time, we hugged Arlo, arms right round each other too and we told him we would see him tomorrow. We tucked him in with Pluto and the grey bunny I had slept with every night, this way he would feel close to his big brother and to us.

Once again we left and retired to the flat. We sunk into bed, and I tucked little bunny (washed and dried) under my chin, we needed each other. Red swollen eyes and bodies wracked with sobs made way for pure bone-weary exhaustion and a black-out, block-out sleep.

Waking the next day and for that one naive moment everything is okay.

As my eyes adjusted and I felt pain in my chest which radiates out to the rest of my body realisation hits like a ten-tonne truck, something was wrong. The world didn’t fell the same. My brain took a few moments to catch up. And just like that I thrown back under the wheels again.

I turned to Day, he was still asleep, but I needed him! As I rolled over my boobs hurt from lack of expressing; my body’s betrayal. However this pain was a mere drop in the ocean in comparison to the pain in our arms and our hearts.

For those first few waking moments I was tricked. But it was real. The nightmare we were living was real. We clung to little bunny as our hearts broke all over again.