I don’t get to say that very often.

I got to say it this morning.

For the last 10 years, I have knitted for the Prem Units of our 2 hospitals where Finbar was born and died. As time went on, and I got busy, I formed a Knitting and Nattering group in our church and we knit for our local one only (where Finbar died)

I view it as his home. The staff there, making a truly stressful and sad time, very comforting.

I usually go around the twins’ birthday/Finbar’s anniversary.

I remember a couple of years ago, going there and ALL the staff who looked after Finbar were all rostered on. As I talked with them, I would swear I saw angels with wings standing behind the nurses. I realised the love that was in the room, and I remembered how much love they showed to us as a family and most importantly, my son.

This year, I didn’t take the knitting in. It’s been sitting there, gathering dust. I don’t know why, I just couldn’t go there.

On the local Soap opera, a woman has given birth to a very prem baby. Just the sight of the incubator brings an ache. I rarely watch the programme and am giving it a wide berth at the moment.

Then this week, I was on a website dedicated to the type of pregnancy I had with the twins. Yes, it was such a spesh pregnancy that it needed its’ own website. Actually, I think it was more started on account of the type of pregnancy being so rare and so high risk. Pooling information has increased the successful outcomes for people.

There is a forum there for those who have lost one or both babies. I don’t usually visit much of the other forums. I was looking at a thread about blogs and came across a woman who had shared her story. She lives in the same town as me and delivered twin girls successfully under the care of the two specialists I had. As I read her story, she mentioned one of the specialists had told her that in the last 10 years there had been 3 monoamniotic pregnancies and they had had  a good sucess rate. My heart told me that I was one of the 3 pregnancies.

As I continued reading, I read of the monitoring or lack there of, of the twins. It sent a chill up my spine. This was just a year ago !!! Did Finbar’s death teach them nothing??

I emailled the lady to say I had read her story and that we shared the same specialists and that my son Finbar had died. I rang my husband furious and upset at the possibility that my son had died in vain. We decided we would approach the Hospital via a letter.

I then received a reply to my e-mail:

I’m so sorry about Finbar.  M mentioned that they had a loss with mono pregnancy previously – I’m presuming he meant Finbar.  Both M and J were very proactive with me. I believe I have you to thank for the seriousness both M and J placed on a mono pregnancy.  Probably not alot of comfort I know.

I cried. I would like to think that Finbar’s life and death had some higher purpose. I need to believe that. My son died as a result of a mismanaged pregnancy, improper monitoring, and misinterpretation of scans and traces. I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy.

I have wondered over the years, I have secretly waited for a phone call where SOMEONE would say, “Because of your son, we delivered this pregnancy successfully.” That my son’s death somehow ’saved’ another parent’s children.

I feel as though in some way, someone has.

Obviously, as a mother, my heart’s desire is that Finbar be here alive and well today.

But it is a HUGE comfort to know that he has left a legacy of sorts. That he gave the medical staff a lesson and they have listened.

So this morning, I felt ready to take the knitting in. I was at peace (Well, as peaceful as a grieving parent can be)

There is something sacred about driving the knitting to the Prem Unit. I can not put it into words. But as I go, I pray, there is a calm. It is almost like a pilgrimage for me.

Hi, I am N, and I am Finbar’s Mum. I got to say it 3 times today.

I am Finbar’s Mum. I have brought some knitting.

I was welcomed through the doors.

I saw widdle babies in widdle incuabtors. I heard beeps and saw machines and something deep within opened and remembered all too vividly and I ached to the point where I started to cry.

I lasted about 10 seconds. Better than previous years. I usually get to the door and it’s all over.

I spoke with nurses who did not know me and that was good until I saw a nurse that looked after Finbar. My son. She remembers me. She remembers my son. I can’t remember her name. I look at her badge, and 10 seconds after leaving the place, I can’t remember it again. So I will just call her the cool nurse chick who looked after my son with love and dignity and respect.

I am Finbar’s Mum.

I will always be Finbar’s Mum.

I just won’t get to say it all too often.

But when I do, I will say it with all the pride a mother has when she speaks the name of a much loved child.

Finbar, thank you for all you have given. Not just to me, but to this world. You shared an incredible lesson with a huge cost. I am so priviledged that I was chosen to be your mother.

God, thank you for my son. Look after the widdle fella and give him a huge hug from me. Let him know how much he is loved and missed. And if it’s ok with you, big guy, can you part the veil between your world and ours, just for a moment so our worlds can mesh?

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