It’s time to let you go, to be at peace with your brother
DAD’S DIARY FOR THE BABY SONS HE LOST
IT is a testament to love. A dad baring his soul for his sons through the stark simplicity of written words.
What began as a blog on his wife expecting twins and the joy of impending fatherhood, turned into a diary of despair for Jonathan Fox. He had hoped it would be a written legacy for his two boys of the start of their lives.
But they will never read it. Which is why, today, he wants to share it with you.
Jonathan, 38, began writing after he and Vikki, 33, were told of their twins at the 12 week scan.
What unfolded was a journey of joy, despair, hope, and anguish. “I put on a brave face, but I was hurting inside,” says Jonathan, a civil servant, of County Durham.
“Instead of telling someone how I felt, I coped by telling myself. It is the story of two amazing boys.”
Raw, painful grief is mixed with hope and even humour, as Jonathan tells of losing Alex at two weeks old, followed by Lucas 18 weeks later to a rare lung disease.
A year on, the couple are again expecting after a miscarriage in May. “We are not used to things going well,” says Jonathan. “But we hope this time will be different.”
July 27, 2017
I planned a great trip for Vikki’s birthday to Chester Zoo. 24 weeks. A safe time to go. There shouldn’t be any mishaps like Vikki going into early labour or anything daft like that. Then Vikki said she felt a niggle. Not sure if she just wanted to see the penguins.
She needed a sit down. We started panicking and she called the midwife. I had a feeling today would not end with us having dinner at the place I’d booked.
Vikki said she was bleeding. The midwife said get to hospital. My heart was racing. Vikki was crying.
A consultant explained Alex wanted to come early, but Lucas seemed fine. We had an impossible decision. We could leave them but Alex might be in danger. If Vikki gave birth, Lucas might become distressed. Which baby did we want to survive? I spent the night staring at the wall.
July 29
Yesterday we were taken to a better-equipped hospital, Arrowe Park on the Wirral. Vikki’s mum Caroline was excited her grandsons would be born in a ‘posh postcode’. She was trying to lighten the mood. By early evening, Vikki’s pains got worse. The lead midwife was giving instructions on breathing and pushing. Then Lucas was suddenly
with us. He was the smallest person I had ever seen. 15 minutes later Alex had arrived too. A picture of all three of us was taken. Vikki looked exhausted, but so happy.
The boys seemed translucent. Their eyes were still closed. They were just 900g – or 2lbs. I’ve had a steak bigger than that for dinner. They were too fragile for cuddles. My wedding ring would have fitted around one of their arms.
August 13
Two days earlier I’d had to return home to go back to work. I’d said my goodbyes to the boys – no kiss allowed, just a little hold of the hand.
But on the 13th Alex developed an infection. I phoned the hospital from work and a consultant said: “I’m sorry, but I don’t expect him to survive.”
My brother drove me. It was three long hours. By the time I reached the hospital, Alex was gone. I remember my legs feeling wobbly, ready to give way. Vikki’s eyes were red. She passed Alex to me so gently and carefully. It was the first time I had held him, the first time I had seen his face without a ventilator covering it.
We held him together for a long time, not wanting to let him go. The only thing that made me want to leave was Lucas. I needed to cuddle Lucas. I sat with Lucas, telling him his brother would always be with us.
Lucas started opening his eyes. He’s a real poser. We have so much to be sad about, but so much to be happy for too. Lucas needs us and we need him.
September 1
The morning of Alex’s funeral arrived. We all wore something light blue. I reminded my friend Brian that this was not an opportunity to wear his Manchester City shirt.
Carrying his tiny coffin into the crematorium, I was overcome with a feeling of disbelief. This wasn’t fair. No father should ever have to do this.
It occurred to me my son had lived all his life in one box or another – from incubator to coffin. My eyes welled up. I was worried I wouldn’t be able to see and would fall.
December 19
Vikki and I had to have a very hard and honest talk about what was best for Lucas, not for us. It was time for us not to be selfish. There was no chance of recovery for our boy. It was time to let him go. Let him be at peace, let him be with his brother. It was the hardest decision of my life.
Lucas was moved into a big bed so we could cuddle him more easily. I could see the lifelessness in his eyes, his pale skin. He looked in so much discomfort it was unbearable. Lucas was in Vikki’s arms and Vikki was in mine. I held her so tightly. The ventilator was switched off. Lucas let out a little smile, maybe he knew his pain was ending. He took his last couple of breaths, and he was gone.
May 2018
It’s hard to figure out what to do after a tragedy. Some would say try again, some would say they can’t. Vikki and I decided we would try again but I needed time first. A few weeks later Vikki told me she was pregnant. Depression came over me. I was worried for Vikki and the bump. The prospect of it all happening again was too much to take. As we waited for the first scan, I began to feel hope. Then Vikki started bleeding. Two days later, tests revealed it was not a viable pregnancy. We both had a sense of relief. I can’t think why we were relieved other than the fact worry was over. It was the strangest feeling.