Avery's name in the sand at Fraser Island

I remember the pain in my heart as I tried desperately to see you for the first time.

I remember the sting of the first tears that fell after you arrived.

I remember the weight of your body on my chest.

I remember the look in my husbands eyes.

I remember the heat of your skin in that room. And the coldness of it that followed.

I remember the joy overwhelming me, snuggled within the grief like a nesting doll.

I remember the blur of people, out of focus visitors, while the only thing of clarity was touching you.

I remember the agony of being alone in that room and the deafening sound of silence.

I remember the empty bassinet with your blue name tag and birth statistics.

I remember the sound that vibrated through my body and engulfed my ears as I fell to the floor.

I remember the smell of the flowers that died one after the other, more death.

I remember the hollow sounds of our footsteps as we walked the halls away from the room of memories.

I remember the cold sharp bite of the air and rain on my face, extinguishing the pain of the burning tears as we left hospital.

I remember the ache in my heart, droning within my chest, that it felt wrong.

I remember the smell of the funeral home as we climbed the stairs and handed you to the young man with kind eyes.

I remember sitting in the car wanting to run back and pound on the door and scream to have you back in my arms.

I remember the feel of the wool under my fingers as I stroked and patted the casket, knowing you were inside.

I remember the shock at seeing your face in the car, so orange with make up, but knowing it was you. That was your face.

I remember the power I felt in my soul as I walked you down that aisle and took the lid off, preparing you for the day.

I remember the colours of the baby blanket you were swaddled in – pink – how ironic.

I remember the room vanishing into just me and Daddy and Tara, and no one else being there with you.

I remember standing in front of everyone and overflowing my thanks and love with words you put in my head.

I remember touching you and kissing you one last time, and the chill of your lips and the smell of make up.

I remember the weight of my legs as I tried to walk away from you for ever. Leaving you in the care of others, knowing I would never touch you again.

I remember everyone’s faces and eyes and they held back the tears and tried hard to be strong for us.

I remember sitting in the car, my heart pounding and screaming with the pain of my shattered heart.

I remember the laughter and joy that held me warm at your wake, and the love of everyone in that room.

I remember the nights looking at your photos and wondering whether it was a dream, and wishing so hard it was different.

I remember the last few months being both joyful and sorrowful, painful and beautiful.

I remember constantly that you are not here.

Today I remember you, my son.  October 15th. International Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day.

This post has been submitted to the Digital Parents Blog Carnival.