I’d never been that hurt before, not the day after my c-section, not when I first unknowingly separated my daughter’s skin from her body, nor when I lost my second child via a miscarriage. And though all these incidents were painful in some form or another, nothing compared to the heartbreak I felt at the loss of his young life.
In February 2016, I met the cutest little boy under the sun. He was about two and a half months at the time and his body was covered in bandages. He was an EB baby, just like my little one, and though they shared a subtype, his was evidently worse. I remember holding him in my arms for the longest time and feeling a special bond with this little man that I felt with no other baby except my own. It felt as if he was my baby, though he wasn’t born to me. I loved this boy so much, despite having only met him once, so the news of his passing shattered my tiny little world.
I remember that day so clearly. My husband and I had gone for our daughter’s checkup at Red Cross Hospital and we wanted to pop in to see our little boy and his mom. It was only when I asked if we could go and see them that I was told that he’d passed away the Thursday before – the same day his mom messaged to say he was out of ICU and doing better. My world fell apart, and though I responded with a polite thank you, I hugged my daughter tightly, trying to contain my emotions. I walked down to my husband in a daze, placed our daughter on his lap and, holding back tears, I broke the news to him. The shock on his face intensified my grief as I knew how much he wanted to meet our champ. I remember thinking how odd it was that I was grieving for loss of someone else’s child so much when I had barely cried at the passing of my little one the week before. And to know that he was their second child that they’d lost in infancy, made it all the more challenging to bare.
He was all I spoke of in the days that followed. I wanted his short stay on earth to be celebrated, appreciated and loved. I wanted everyone, especially his mom and dad, to know that his life mattered, and that he was a champ who had returned back to his Lord. I wanted to attend his funeral, but was unable to do so. And though my heart breaks whenever I think of him, I am comforted knowing that his beautiful soul (along with all the other kids who have left this world) resides in one of the gardens of Paradise, under the loving eye of Prophet Abraham, and will be waiting for his parents at the doors of Paradise wanting to enter it alongside them.
I know I will never be able to imagine the full extent of the pain the family endures daily, but I pray that The Almighty heals their hearts and grants them ease through this difficult time. I pray that we never take our lives and our loved ones for granted and that we are eventually reunited with them in the everlasting gardens of bliss. Ameen.
