Today’s challenge from Outmumbered is “vivid memory.” And since it’s a month to the day since Georgie died I will try and brave my memories and go back to the day I took him to the hospital, knowing in my heart of hearts that something was terribly wrong. My mum had left the previous Sunday(after being with us for three months) and he had seemed to do a bit better than he had done that week. He had been down with what we thought was a nasty diarrhea and mild fever. Waking up every two hours during the night with this weird sweat, only around his head. We had been shopping in Tesco’s like a normal wee family and took Emma to her drama class that Monday. And then, my precious boy stopped eating. Altogether. I remember that evening. Alex kept telling me Georgie was ok. That babies do that sometimes. But I remember this dread I couldn’t shake. This overwhelming fear. This ominous feeling. I Facebooked with mummy friends asking advice. I researched online. …

With everything that has happened lately I stopped blogging. It has been merely pouring out my grief. So when I heard of the challenge launched by the lovely Outmumbered mummy blogger I decided this would be something I would like doing this month. I will try every day but if internet connections fail me, you will forgive me, won’t you! So here goes, today’s challenge. 20 things about me you may not know. 1. I am an introvert. I recharge in quietness. I love to read and need time on my own to process information and facts. 2. I was born in Romania but have lived in Northern Ireland for the past 8 years. 3. I love the colour blue. I went through a phase as a teenager when I wore ONLY blue… 4. I love God. But I have been really struggling in the past few weeks to comprehend why my baby had to die in such a cruel way, of such a horrible illness, at such a young age. And I have been angry with Him. …

When a baby dies, a part of the world dies with him. Cause a baby is not an isolated incident or an accident of the universe. A baby carries within him the promise of the future. Of future generations. Of callings fulfilled. Of blessings in the making. So when a baby dies, a part of the world dies with him… When a baby dies, a part of his mother’s heart dies with him. I couldn’t locate it physically, that part, but I can tell you it is the part responsible with belly laughter. And naïveté. And careless enjoyment of a simple moment. When a baby dies, a part of his mother’s heart dies with him. And for a while, for a long while, there is only sadness covering her life, like dew covers grass in the morning. And the naïveté is gone. All gone. Never to return. It left when her baby was given no chance to live by the doctors. When she watched him disappear, day after day, behind a curtain of pain and …

So you thought you won. Deceived yourself again, just like with Jesus’ death. You thought this was the end. You thought that by asking for my baby’s life you have conquered. But once again, you were wrong. Yes, we miss our baby and we are devastated. Devastated he can’t enjoy the beauty of this world. Devastated he didn’t get to meet people we love. He didn’t get a chance to show them his quirky and beautiful personality. We miss his presence. We miss touching him, we miss holding him, we miss smelling him, tickling him, cuddling him. Feeding him. Playing with him. Laughing with him. We feel incomplete. We feel a profound sadness that covers everything we do in a layer of grey, like thick and choking dust. We feel lost. We feel desolate. But I also feel God’s presence and favour in these dark days. I almost heard Him whispering today: “Anything. Anything you want, ask from my hand. I will give you.” And just like Solomon, I will not ask for gold, nor …

Today you will leave us for good, baby boy. For three days we fooled ourselves into believing you were still here with us because your beautiful body was still in our midst. We were able to hold hands, pat your cheek and kiss your forehead. We were able to give you cuddles and wash you with our tears. But today, oh baby, today, your body will leave us too. Your sister is angry with you again. She understands very well the finality that today will bring and doesn’t want to accept it. She didn’t want to say goodbye. She didn’t want to kiss your cheek. She is mad with you, for leaving her, sweetheart. She loved you sooo much, as you know. She didn’t get to spend the time she deserved with you. You were stuck in a hospital room for two months, away from her. She had to steal glances through the door and kisses when no one was looking. The days in the hospice were wonderful for her. The first thing she said …