Mummy's Eulogy

I’m a speechwriter by profession, and until a few days ago the hardest speech I’d ever written was a motivational one for a bunch of Western Bulldog recruits – not least of all because I didn’t, and still don’t, know how many people are even on a football team.

Now, I’m faced with the overwhelming task of finding the words to tell you about my beloved baby, who lived and died as the rest of the world went about their nightly slumber. I want these words to be perfect, as he was, but that seems such an impossible task. So instead, I will just speak with the language of my heart, which is all I have left.

My son, Max Alexander, was delivered in the still of the night, in a moment of the most perfect calm. He was welcomed by his adoring daddy, his doting Aunty Kate, and two amazing midwives, none of whom left his mummy’s side as she experienced hitherto unimaginable fear, pain and uncertainty.

Max had the gentlest of landings onto this earthly plane. I birthed him tenderly, gladly, and humbly in the knowledge that the precious gift I was about to be given would not be mine to keep.

We know how fiercely, how bravely he battled to get to us because he wore the marks and bruises of his journey on his tiny body. The story of his life was written quite literally on his fragile, parchment-like skin, and as we caressed every inch of his body, in awe of what we’d created, his story transferred through our fingertips where it now sits protected inside every molecule of our being – forever a part of us.

We dreamed of a baby and imagined Max into being for so many months that we feel we’ve known him forever. We feel so privileged that he chose us to be his parents – his most careful protectors. My only wish is that I could have kept him safer; that I’d spent more time marvelling at the amazing changes he made to my body as he grew; that like thousands of other elated new mothers I got to take him home where all his things are waiting for him in a now empty room.

Leslie and I have been joined in love for so long, but we never thought we’d be joined in grief this way – it’s not the natural order of things. We stand helplessly at the beginning of a scary and untrodden path that we have no idea how to navigate.

We are so grateful that you are all here with us, and for us, as we come to terms with the cruel and recurring realisation that our baby is gone – visible only in moonbeams and stardust, and the precious few photos we have to treasure.

What’s perhaps the hardest thing to comprehend is that my body has immediately gone on with the business of living whilst my heart and soul lag so much more sorrowfully behind. All evidence of my sweetly swelling belly has disappeared, my aches and pains relieved.

But I want them all back, as no ailment or discomfort could compare with the indescribable emptiness I have in the pit of my stomach, where a painful brew of fear, sadness, despair and shock have replaced the delightful feeling of Max’s tumbles and kicks. My arms throb to hold him and I want to cut them off to make it stop.

Max, my darling, as I celebrate proudly everything you were, I also grieve for the boy you will never be. I had so many dreams and plans for you, and I still do.

After all is said and done, your daddy and I will leave here today with the comfort of a single truth: You lived, and you were loved.

Goodnight my baby boy. I will awaken all the days of my life giving thanks for all you have given me.