Casey

Six weeks on

Our baby son - Casey John Colin - was born on 12 January 1996. He was stillborn at 24 weeks, although doctors suspect that his death occurred at around 18 weeks. His journey into this life was a short one. Our journey has been made much longer, given that we still have no reason as to why he died....

Right now, six weeks after his birth-death, I am still filled with unanswered questions. Life has gotten back to some kind of normality, although not the same as before. We still eat, sleep, swim in the ocean and spend time with friends - but there is a gnawing silence one can't escape. It is the mystery of his loss, and the inevitability of death in our lives.

Casey was a seemingly normal baby, growing strongly at each checkup and advancing towards birth. All the tests were positive, normal, OK. I was feeling well and looking forward to my second child in six years. Holly, our five year old daughter, was excited about the prospect of another child in the family. She was preparing to welcome a new baby to share her room, and her life. Then, one day the bubble burst.

I was the first appointment that morning at the obstetrician's rooms. I was a little anxious, not having felt much movement over the Christmas holiday break. I had felt a rather strange "tearing away" sensation high up in my abdomen. But I convinced myself not to worry. I was enjoying the pregnancy and was determined to remain calm. No one had indicated any problems.

When my doctor switched on the ultrasound, and searched and searched for a heartbeat, my world came to an abrupt halt. I was desperate, disbelieving, distraught. She switched it off. My baby was dead. My heart shattered into a thousand tiny pieces and I was changed forever.

Since that day, time has taken on a "concertina" effect. The first few weeks were a blur - the birth, the hospital, the cards and flowers, our grief washing over every aspect of our lives. The waiting. Waiting for news of test results, waiting for my body to heal from the birth, waiting to feel good about myself again. Six weeks has been a lifetime crammed with every possible emotion.

I am keeping a diary where I record my thoughts whenever I feel the need to do so. Looking back through its pages, I see myself laid bare - split open, hurting, angry at the world and this terrible tragedy. I write for my pain, for Casey and confirming my deep love for him which no one can erase.

"You were so tiny, we cradled you in the cup of our hands. So light and precious - you were barely there at all. Your hands and feet curled together, protecting you from the world outside. A strong chest rose proudly from your shoulders; your manhood plain and definite."

"Casey John Colin - you were the love of our lives. Our shining hope, our future. Where did you go? I miss you like never before. I want you back with me in more than spirit. Be my special angel in heaven... Be good. Be mine forever... Sleep tight, sweet dreams, my little angel baby."

I have an awakening belief that living and dying are part of a much bigger canvas on which we are but a tiny speck. I know that our son has moved to a place where we can no longer see him, but will feel his presence in everything we do. He has taught us about a richer, deeper love for ourselves and others. A lasting compassion and understanding of what it is to be human. My hope is that we will reach that place and be together once more.

Kerri Watson
18.2.96