Tears of prematurity
By: Sandra Guerreiro
Tags: Parenting, Maternity, Baby

I knew that day would change my life. I knew we would be a family. I knew my definition of love would change forever. Yes, I knew it had already been said, I had already felt it.

You decided to come to the world, well before the expected and yet I was happy. The doctor said you were fine.

Over my belly, you didn’t cry or do anything expected, but I still didn’t know, I couldn’t know.

Photo by Christian Bowen on Unsplash

While I went to the recovery, you came out beside me and your father still saw you they told me to come back later and I felt in the clouds in an indescribable feeling, even now you came out of or-foot me and the longing was already a lot. You were so mine. So much ours.

From time to time in my dreams, I am still haunted by the words of that nurse, who came to my bedside and in a soft sound held my hand and said:

- Everything is going to be fine, but your son had a cardiac arrest and went to the intensive care unit. If you want to, cry but remember that it’s only the first day of the rest of your lives.

I had a photo, a polaroid where you, my growing love, you were connected to all kinds of machines. I didn’t understand the polaroid, only much later that I realized why and the importance of it.

I didn’t care about the epidural recovery, I didn’t want to hear the advice that called for calm, I moved my legs as fast as I could. I had to come to you

I was already in the room when your father came back, he didn’t know, it took a little while before that picture he ran to see you.

They wouldn’t let me go… Damn Epidural. Damn them all, I just wanted to see you.

I was left alone in a room where all the mothers had the cot next to their children, mine was still empty. Empty of a child, empty of you. I felt a distressing force cutting me off from all logic, I called a nurse and in a sudden sense of injustice, madness, or such overwhelming love I told him:

— Either take me where my son is or I’ll go out and look for him anywhere in this motherhood.

And so it was, near midnight of that very day that I saw you, I did not hug you, I did not touch you, I did not feel your breath, I did not manage to breathe from me, in your life that seemed so fragile.

I cried, I cried in the impotence and frustration of that love of ours.

To leave you behind in motherhood was despair, they were not tears, they were cries and groans of an atrocious pain that has no explanation, only those who feel it.

It took almost 20 days to go out with you. Going out with my son in the maternity ward. It was years to overcome and calm my mind.

I had a great team that took care of you.

I had a family and friends who took care of me, us. When I felt that whirlwind of emotions, in each consultation, in each exam, until they gave you a definitive discharge that lasted for almost 24 months, I clung to your always detached smile, your energy, the new evolutions, and your look in mine.

Photo by Zach Lucero on Unsplash

That look of yours gave me strength from the first day to never give up, I only hope that mine will do the same for you.

Even today, after fourteen years I still cry looking at your first image, no longer rebellious but in a mixture of sadness and pride in seeing where you have arrived, we have arrived!