Dear little person,

I did not get to meet you today. Hours went by what felt like minutes. I could see how life is slipping past you. 110bpm. An hour later 56 and then 50bpm and then nothing. The deafening silence. The trying again. The shock on my face. Me asking them to try again. Nothing. You went quiet round about 10:34.

I can’t tell you why. Or I can but tonight I don’t want to go into the details. All I can say is that I am sorry, truly I am. Your mom did the best she could. She never gave up. She fought. She fought a system. She was fighting for both of you. But sometimes evil prevails. The one person who could make a difference today decided not to. I can’t answer for her. But all I can say is that your mom is brave. She is a warrior. And tonight she is lying alone in Charlotte Maxeke hospital with battle scars- two pulled out drips, a torn body and empty arms.

Little person, tonight when you are in heaven, look down on your mom. I want you to guide her through this horrible and dark time. You have a little sister that is 4 years old at home. She told me.

And dear N,

God. I don’t have words. I got home this afternoon ready to go search for you at the hospital. But after speaking to someone I realised that it would be no good. Where do I start searching when I only have your name that I wrote down in phonetics? How do I explain to them what happened and that I just want to hug you again?

I’m sorry. As a doula, I did what I could. And I promise you that I won’t leave it there. I already spoke to someone that can do something.

But all that is left of this day is a mug of black coffee, a mom’s broken dreams and a dead infant.

Hillbrow, today you did not play fair.

2 Replies to “#Goodbye”

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