This whole week has been a struggle. I have still been functioning, do not get me wrong, but Patrick and what happened two years ago plays on my mind constantly. We are living in a very melancholy, reflective house at the moment.
Two years ago Tuesday, we were in the hospital. I was worried about Patrick. We were eventually sent home after nothing being achieved. If anything, Patrick was worse off by that stage. In hindsight, I wish we had of driven straight to another hospital. But, why would I have done that at the time? The guilt haunts me.
Two years ago yesterday, Patrick moved for the last time. He last kicked me at 9.30pm on what was a Sunday night. A few hours after that, we were told that Patrick's wee heart had stopped beating. Wee pet.
Two years ago today, we went back into the hospital so that he could be born. I remember driving to the hospital and the whole country was in cherry blossom bloom - they still remind me of him and have become his flower. I went for a walk earlier this morning and picked a few blooms for him. They are sitting underneath his photo on a bookshelf which has become his shrine.
Two years ago tomorrow, he was born. I always wonder if I should mark the day he died - April 19, 2015. But, what would I do? I do find it strange, when I really think about it, that we have his birthday two days after the day he died. I know that is when he was born, but he could never be born in the same way that most children are born.
Anyway, Patrick's birthday tomorrow. We will see how that goes...