I found this image on Pinterest a while ago. It made me cry, but I couldn’t take my eyes from it.
So much conveyed through such a simple image.
A mother and a father having to let go of their precious baby.
I don’t know if I agree with the symbolism of the picture – I don’t like Hugo being described as an ‘angel baby’. Hugo is my Star Boy, having adventures in the galaxies above.
Sometimes when I look at this picture, I wonder why the parents, while clearly upset, are not offering more resistance. Why it seems such a peaceful scene. Why aren’t they fighting?
Then I remember my last moments with Hugo. I did not want him to go, not even for a moment. I would have done anything to have kept Hugo with me, for him to have got better, and for him to have come home with me and his daddy.
I like to think the baby in the picture is not going willingly. He looks like he is wriggling, just like Hugo would wriggle.
Hugo had fought so hard, and defied so many odds, for 35 days. His nurses told us they thought the love his daddy and I lavished Hugo gave him the strength and determination to keep fighting.
If only love was enough.
Hugo had told us, in his way, that he was tired of fighting. There was no more hope for him. I did not want my boy to suffer. I wanted my son to feel as much love as we could give him. We wanted to make sure his last moments were calm. No fighting. Not from him, not from us. He was snuggled between my boobs, and I sang to him. Hugo listened to my heartbeat – the first sound he would have heard was also the last.
When I discovered I was pregnant, Hugo’s daddy and I thought we had the family we so wished for at last.
We are broken-hearted.
Our family is broken-hearted.
Our friends are broken-hearted.
I feel broken.
Word of the Week – broken
The Prompt – Family