Mum's heartbreaking letter to baby who passed away
Little Fitz, oh how I wish we could bring you home.
Every fibre of my body mourns for you. I don't know if this hole in my heart will ever feel full again.
I cannot fathom why you were too sweet for this world. I imagine this will never make sense.
We were told on February 21st, 2019, you were not going to live. I was 21 weeks pregnant.
You would die either intrauterine, during delivery or shortly after your birth.
Instead of decorating a nursery or washing tiny clothes, we were grappled with tough decisions.
How much testing to pursue, picking out a funeral home, deciding what to do with your little body or explaining to your toddler sisters why you are an angel.
For 106 mornings, I would wake up and for a few moments, I would forget our time was temporary.
I would lay still hoping to feel your tiny kicks to confirm your viability.
Instead of complaining over the morning sickness, swelling, aches, heartburn, sweating, sleeplessness-I knew all of this confirmed you were still alive.
Despite what multiple doctors conveyed, I secretly hoped for a miracle.
Every visit or ultrasound, we looked for a sliver of hope that we could bring you home.
Fitzpatrick 'Fitz' Ralph Boschert was born on Friday, June 7, 2019 at 5.15 p.m. weighing 3 pounds and 11 ounces (1.7kg).
We had one hour with our warrior before he peacefully took his last breaths on Mum's chest.
I'll never forget that tiny little kick on my chest before you took your last breath.
I'll never forget watching Dad cuddling your tiny body during your baptism.
Nothing would prepare us to hear the doctor confirm your heartbeat stopped, kissing your cool forehead goodnight, listening to the nurses talk about you in past tense, or waking up the first morning grabbing my still belly looking for you.
It pains me knowing we won't be able to see you take your first steps or spit out mushed-up peas.
I tear up knowing Daddy won't be able to teach you to kick a soccer ball or swing a bat.
I won't be able to hear your first laugh, console your boo-boos, or pull you into our bed during a thunderstorm.
I won't be able to see a brace-faced boy awkwardly place a corsage on a girl's wrist before a high school dance, freak out in a parking lot when teaching you how to drive, or help you move into your university dorm.
I wonder what you would have been like, what you would have done, and how you would change the world.
I imagine and hope your purpose is greater.
You opened our eyes to fully appreciate everyone's differences. You taught us to console others about our tragedy.
You taught us it is easy to celebrate the good in life, but also how it important it is to be there for loved ones in the dark.
To look at hurt and pain straight on, and reach out to them-even if you don't know what to say. Fitz, you will always have an extra special place in my heart.
All good things come to an end, sweet baby. I yearn for the day to hold you again.
I wish your home was with your family rather than heaven. Rest peacefully, my sweet Fitz boy.