"I remember walking out of the hospital to the car later that day. I just had to get home as I couldn't stay there any longer. It was a beautiful sunny day and I remember people laughing near us. I had to hold myself back from running over to them and screaming at them "how dare you laugh, don't you know I've just lost my daughter?

"

Debbie

Oskar's Little Hand

Becci's Story of Oskar

Oskar
Born and died 22nd June 1999

written during August & September 1999

I was so scared and excited when I discovered I was pregnant. I remember walking slowly to the doctors surgery, not yet knowing for sure, appreciating the moment, knowing that my life might be about to change forever. I shivered with cold and nerves. It was a dark November night and it had been raining, but the stars had come out. I walked past the graveyard, the one where Oskar would later be buried, and thought fleetingly of the procession of generations and of the enormousness of life and death. Ten minutes later the doctor was saying, - Well, it looks like its positive - and all I could do was let out a little squeak, as I felt a wave of goosebumps pass over my body from my feet up. Because they weren’t sure if it was ectopic, it was two weeks before we knew for sure that he was growing where he should. When I first saw him on the ultra sound, a tiny mass of light on the screen, he was only seven weeks old and 9mm long. I held my breath in excited wonder as I saw his tiny heart beating, a tiny beacon of flickering light, beating fast, strong and regular, as it would continue to do until the moment of his birth. Strange that I had such a connection with the rhythm of his heart right from the start, when it would be the one thing that was missing when I finally got to see and hold him at last.

I couldn't believe there was something alive and growing inside me. It felt so right. There was space in our lives for him that we saw had been there for some time. As the months went by we became excited by how much love he was generating, between us and in those around us. It was a new person for Glad and I to fall in love with, unconditionally, and there is something so wonderful about the feeling of new love. There were hard times, as we adjusted to the idea of sharing our lives and each other, but mostly it was good. In the first three months I felt the overwhelming emotions of adolescence again, only pinker and happier. Every thing was felt to extreme. I also became aware that I felt a bubble of love, support and safety surrounding me, like when I was a child.

I had very little morning sickness, but did feel very tired until about the 20th week. I had no cravings for food, but experienced other heightened sensory excitements: crunchy, clacky sounds were delicious to me, like ash or coals or gravel being walked on or marbles clacking together, or exploding candy crackling in my mouth. I found myself counting endlessly, rhythms hypnotised me, any regular action or sound could set me off – clocks, walking, music, etc… Sometimes, I would have counted to 100 before I realised I was doing it. Around Christmas I became very excited by blue tinsel and sparkly things in general.

At around five months I became a bit anxious about everything. Glad and I did not have enough time together. We were too busy working. I wanted to feel our baby move so badly. It began to get better after seeing him on the scan for the second time at 21 weeks. It was lovely to share that with Glad and see an outward show of paternal emotions. I couldn’t believe how much Oskar was moving and that I still couldn’t feel it. We saw his spine first, I remember; a perfect curving fishbone of a spine, so beautiful. As the sonographer checked him all over, we saw his tiny hands and feet. At one point, he held his toes. We saw his face and saw him open and close his lips and swallow. This was the only time we would see our son making such human, lively gestures. She told us that she would guess that this baby was a boy. We also saw his heart, with its four chambers, beating steadily and looking like an exotic jellyfish on the screen.

We went on holiday to Cornwall in February and spent time alone together, concentrating on each other and our baby. Straight away I began to feel Oskar kicking and moving, and so could Glad. That was the turning point and after this I felt fantastic for the rest of the pregnancy. Increasingly, as I got bigger, I loved being pregnant. I loved feeling him move and kick and punch. His movements were never hard or painful. I felt so content and happy.

As spring came I felt perfectly in time with nature. Everything was growing all around me and so was my belly, preparing to flower and give fruit. I continued to be busy, but also became more spaced out in those in between times and had to take a bit more time for myself. I wrote in my diary “I feel back in the flow of life more than I have been for a long time. It’s as if things have begun to move again after stagnating and I really like that feeling. I feel really very happy in a major life way. I feel blasted by love."

By 34 weeks I was really excited about the birth and was spending a lot of time thinking about baby and what was to come. By 36 weeks I was really uncomfortable at night and his head was pressing down on my pelvic floor. As far as we could tell, Oskar was in much the same position for the whole second half of the pregnancy, with his head down and his back on my right side. I could feel his bottom next to my right ribs. He only chose to turn around 2 days before he was born. His head had been engaged for weeks! Perhaps it was all the running around I did at the weekend art event I was working at that made him move or the fall I had on the Friday night; perhaps it was something more deliberate. We will never know. With hindsight I realised that I had felt it happen on the Saturday morning. When I woke up the bump had been the oddest shape, really sticking out and when I stood up I felt him slide down and round and back into the usual shape.

We hardly had anything prepared in terms of baby things. I had a strange feeling that I didn’t want to get much stuff until after the baby was born. Any way, I thought I would wait until after the art event to seriously start thinking about shopping and collecting. I should still have had a couple of weeks. As long as we had a carrycot and a couple of babygrows, I thought that would be O.K. Since Oskar arrived the day after the event, we had very little baby stuff to pack away, for which I am grateful. It all fits into two half-filled black bin liners and the carrycot, and is packed away in the cupboard now, not too far away, in the hope that I will need it all again before too long.

A few days before he arrived (two weeks early) I wrote in my diary: “I love feeling the baby move. I am trying to appreciate the feeling of being pregnant, of carrying this babe inside me, whilst it lasts now. There’s so little time left to go. The head still seems to be well engaged and sometimes I really feel like the baby is going to come early, like it really isn’t going to stay in for much longer”. In the last two weeks I developed a really sweet tooth, and ate several pots of raspberry jam. I also loved a crap pop song about chocolate that kept getting stuck in my head; “sweet like chocolate boy, you bring me so much joy, sweet like chocolate”.

Everyone said I looked fantastic in those last weeks. I have never had so many compliments! And I felt really great too and so happy. My whole life just felt so perfect and I had the whole summer ahead of me to enjoy with my baby. The weekend art event I had been working on went really well and left me on such a high.

Oskar’s birth all began so perfectly. It was the day after my work had ended. It was a Monday. It was the midsummer solstice; the longest day of the year; the day of most light. The night before I had been very uncomfortable all evening, unable to sit still or really relax. I felt kind of unsettled, but was very tired and went to bed early. We slept really soundly and deeply for a change. In the morning, midsummer’s day, I sat up in bed and felt that some of my mucus plug had come away. “Do you think it means anything?” I asked. Glad went to work.

It was such a beautiful sunny day with not a cloud in the sky. I pottered about really enjoying having a day off at last. I cleaned up and tidied and spent much of the morning in the garden, mowing the lawn, planting out little seedlings, listening to music and radio 4, etc… feeling very happy, contented and energetic. I was just squatting down, planting out some seedling flowers, when I felt a gush of warm liquid between my legs. I gasped and thought perhaps I had finally lost all control over my bladder and wet myself. The fluttering of my heart and the rising excitement in my chest indicated that I knew something else was going on. Still dis-believing I stood up slowly and saw that my trousers were absolutely soaked! I went to the bathroom and took them off. I tried to wee but couldn’t. As I stood up from the loo another gush of water came flowing out. I stepped into the bath in a state of confused excitement. I thought I should check what colour it was. How was I supposed to tell? For a few moments of amazed disbelief and ever growing excitement I squatted in the bath and watched the fluid trickle out of me, completely clear in colour. Slowly, it began to register. What else could this be other than my waters breaking? I wondered what to do next.

After a while, I washed and got out of the bath. I put on clean clothes and began to wander round and round the house with a towel between my legs for at least ten minutes, looking at all the mess and thinking over and over “what shall I do?”. There was no pain, just overwhelming excitement that makes my heart beat faster even now to think about it. It made me laugh out loud to myself and tremble all over. It was about 1.30pm in the afternoon.

The first thing I decided to do was to take some photos of myself. It might be the last chance to capture this amazing shape. I took off all my clothes again and stood in front of the big mirror in our lovely newly painted bedroom and stood admiring my beautifully round belly for some minutes before taking some photos. Then I realised what an untidy mess I was standing in, just in the spot where I wanted to give birth to this baby. I put my clothes back on and began tidying up.

Then I thought, this is definitely not a false alarm I had better page Glad to come home. I trembled with excitement as I called the number and left a message saying “ Glad I think you had better come home as my waters have broken love bex”. Whilst I waited for Glad to arrive I continued tidying up and hoovering. Glad arrived in a bit of a daze. He didn’t seem to know quite what to do first. We had a big hug and kiss. I had a routine antenatal appointment booked for 3pm anyway, so I said I thought perhaps we should just go to that and see. Glad said he thought we should ring Helen our midwife and tell her the waters had broken. Helen said on the phone she’d come to us after clinic. Marc, who shared our house, came home and I sent him off to buy stuff for me. I said "Marc, I'm going to have this baby". He said "what? Now?" and I said "yes". We laughed.

I thought that perhaps we’d be able to get the birthing pool a day early. I rang and they said it was fine, but we’d have to collect it. I thought we should both just go and get it; Glad pointed out this was a silly idea and in the end I rang a friend and asked him to collect it for us. We continued to tidy and I packed a bag with a few things, just in case we had to go to hospital later. Marc came back from town and Andy arrived with the pool and the boys all began to assemble it. I still had no pains till about 4pm, when I had my first contraction, which was like a dull period pain.

Shortly after that Helen arrived and from there on my contractions began to grow stronger and more regular. Helen and I spent time in the garden and the bedroom, whilst they attempted to fill the pool. Unfortunately, our hot water tank only made it ankle deep. Before I knew it the whole street was getting involved. There were people with buckets of hot water coming up and down the street, all laughing and really excited too. It was great. I suddenly realised it was shaping up to be the perfect birthing room. Just as I had imagined and dreamed.

The sun was streaming in the windows, casting rainbows of light across the walls through the crystals. The pool got filled and after some difficulties the heater was got working and the water was got to the right temperature. I was getting stronger and stronger contractions that were one every three minutes. Glad made some food for all of us and Helen popped back to the clinic for the sonic aqua aid. I wandered alone around the garden in the evening light, breathing through the contractions, smelling Glad’s cooking and looking at the beautiful flowers, leaning forwards into the plastic garden chairs, which were nice and bendy. When Helen got back we all had dinner in our room; rice and stir-fry. I had to eat mouthfuls in between toe curling strong contractions.

After dinner, I got into the pool. It was heavenly. It eased the pain of the contractions. Everything was perfect. Everything was just as I had imagined; sunshine, soothing water, a beautiful view of the bright green leaves of a tree against a stunningly blue sky through the window and Helen and Glad there helping me through each contraction, which were really close together. They took turns at rubbing my back and speaking encouragements in soothing soft voices. Glad was wonderful, focussed and loving. This was my perfect birthing moment.

At about 7.30pm Helen asked if I wanted to know how far dilated I was. It was then she discovered that Oskar was in a breech position, as she could feel his little bottom and genitals coming down. She guessed I was about 5cm dilated by then. I had to get out of the pool for her to double-check, which was very hard. The contractions were so much worse out of the water. The breech meant an automatic transfer to hospital. I was a little disappointed, but I didn’t mind too much. I remember wondering if it meant that I would have to have a caesarean. I got back into the pool while we waited for the ambulance to arrive, as it helped so much with the pain. Leaving the pool was really hard. Glad said getting me into the ambulance was like getting a frightened and reluctant dog into the boot of a car. By the time we were in the ambulance the contractions were really quite strong. The ambulance man wanted to strap me in on my back, but I growled at him and Helen stepped in and said it would be ok. As we sped along, I looked out of the window in between the contractions. The sun was setting behind the Devon hills and I could see all the way to the moors. Everything was covered in the golden evening light of a perfect solstice day. It was so beautiful. I caught Helen's eye and she smiled at me reassuringly and I was so pleased she was there.

Once we got into the hospital and into the delivery room the contractions were really strong and pretty much continuous. I don’t remember how I got there or much about this bit, as I was concentrating on getting through the pain. They put belt monitors on me and from that point on I listened to and focussed on the loud amplified sound of Oskar’s heartbeat. I was introduced to Dr. Permessaur, a specialist registrar in breech deliveries, who examined me and said we had the option of a normal vaginal delivery or a caesarean. He said that the baby was in a frank breech position, which was one of the more straightforward breech positions to deliver. He was very happy to let us continue as we were, which we did. I began using gas and air at about this point, which was really dizzying. People kept offering me an epidural, but Glad and I kept saying no.

At some point around 9pm Helen had to leave, as she had already been on duty for a long time and they didn’t know how much longer it would be. I was so sad that she had to go, but at the same time I was pretty busy with coping with the pain. A northern and very practical midwife took over. She was so very opposite from Helen, who is so beautiful, graceful and gentle. This was exagerated in my memory, as through my gas & air drugged vision, I saw the new midwife’s chubby face, so close to mine that it was distorted. She had thick glasses and red lipstick that was stuck on her teeth and she kept saying “Do you want that epidural yet?” and “You don’t have to suffer you know. Breech births can be very hard and there could be a long way to go”.

The labour was hardest over the next couple of hours. The pain was intense and almost constant and I was using a lot of gas and air. I was drifting away with it, spinning out and off. The only things I could hear clearly were Glad’s voice and Oskar’s heart beat. Glad was telling me to breathe through it and stroking me and telling me that I was doing really well. He kept telling me to focus inwards and breathing with me. I had pins and needles in my hands and this began to spread into my face too, especially around my nose. I got Glad to massage my face and nose, which felt heavenly. I just could not get into a good position during this bit. Leaning forwards was best, but my arms were just not strong enough to hold me up and were beginning to ache and I had pins and needles in them also. It was excruciatingly painful when they made me climb onto the bed and lie back, so that I could be internally examined. I hated having to stay in that position. Once I was nine and a half centimetres dilated, I had to put my feet in those stirrup things. It felt that once I handed myself over to their care, I had to go with what they advised.

By 12.15am I was at this point. Oskar’s bottom was almost visible. When I started to say that perhaps I would have that epidural after the next contraction, Glad began to ration my gas and air. As my access to the gas and air was lessened, I began to feel my strength and focus returning. I tried a few contractions without it and then followed Glad’s advice and took only two breaths of gas and air per contraction. I began to feel much more in control. Glad and the midwife kept telling me not to push yet. I think I managed not to. Then I was told that I could push. A brighter light was turned on and Dr. Permessaur got into position to manoeuvre Oskar out. Everyone seemed to be saying, “OK now on the next one, PUSH!”. By now I was really beginning to scream; rising from low guttural growls and moans to high pitch ear splitting squealing. There were many people in the room, student midwives and obstetricians, etc.. They kept asking if that was alright. I just wished they’d stop asking and leave me alone – I couldn’t tell who was there anyway.

As I was pushing I imagined myself back in our bedroom, with the golden light streaming in the window and rainbows filling the room, back to my perfect birthing moment. I imagined us in a place of golden light. I could only hear Glad’s voice and faintly that of Dr. Permassaur. It seemed to be a three way process between us. The doctor gave instructions which Glad passed on to me. The actual pushing out was much less painful than the contractions had been. They had a sharper, more manageable quality.

I felt it as Oskar’s bottom appeared and everyone exclaimed “It’s a boy!!”. In between pushing I asked Glad how much was out and what he could see. I felt that Dr. Permassaur had the tiny body in his hands as it left mine. I felt with surprise and joy the “PING” of Oskar’s legs being born, both at once and he was free to unfold at last. With each major part of him more water gushed forth. I could feel his wet, warm body and moving legs against my inner thighs and the excruciating tear as the doctor manoeuvred out Oskar’s shoulders and arms one by one – really painful – with his fingers. With a couple of final pushes his head was also born. It was 12.45am on 22nd June.

For one vital moment that I will always remember, one which appears in my mind's eye over and over and over, my little baby boy was placed on my belly. He was half wrapped in a towel, all wet, warm and slippery with dark curly hair and closed eyes. His face was towards mine and for just one brief moment I reached down and stroked his tiny head and shoulder and cried and whispered, ”Oh, hello, hello”… Someone said, “Here is your son”.

Then he was gone, whisked away to the other side of the room and I knew instantly that all was not well. He was surrounded by people all working frantically. It was strangely quiet, with urgent whispered words. I hugged Glad with all my remaining strength and cried. “What’s wrong?”. Glad said nothing and the student midwife said she didn’t know yet. And Glad and I held each other tightly, whilst the doctor tried to get me to push out the after birth, which would not come. I so wanted to take my legs out of the stirrups. They were so painful. I so wanted to hold my baby and to hear his cries, but they did not come. After a strange amount of time that seemed like a second but also like an eternity, a woman doctor came over, put a hand on my arms and said, “I’m sorry, but we have been unable to resuscitate your son. I’m so very sorry”.

I cried then, out loud and Glad cried too and we held each other tightly.

There was a cuffufle about my afterbirth. I don’t know quite what order things happened in. I was in pain, inside and out. My legs ached in the stirrups and before I knew it they were injecting me with Syntometrin, more pain, a drug to expel the placenta, which did not work. At some point I was told I would have to go for surgery under general anaesthetic and I said that I did not want to leave Glad and that they would have to wait until we had rung someone and they had come. Everyone was crying. It was very quiet. When the doors to the room opened I could hear other mother’s newborns taking their first breaths and screaming.

Then they gave me my baby son to hold. “Do you have a name for him?” someone asked. Glad and I looked at each other and both said “Oskar”.

Then they left us alone.

Glad rang my parents from a phone they had brought into the room. “It’s not such good news…” was all I heard him say.

And I held my little Oskar and I cried softly and then loudly and then softly again. He was still warm. He was pale and perfect and very beautiful. He looked so peaceful and calm and strangely happy. I just gushed with love for him. I stroked him and his skin was so soft it almost felt as if it wasn’t there at all. I unwrapped him from the blanket and looked at him all over; his tiny fingers, which hooked around one of mine, his sweet feet and chubby little legs, the shiny cord, his tiny nipples, his delicate ears, still filled with the fluids of birth. I opened his lips and put my finger in his mouth and held open his little eyes to see what colour they were – a dark, grey blue. I stroked his wet curly dark hair and mostly, I felt the weight of him in my arms as I held him to me. I can feel that weight still. I think I will always remember the weight of him in my arms – a physical memory.

Glad, Oskar and I spent some time together.

Dr.Permassaur came to explain the surgery and to say how sorry he was and how they could not understand how or what or why this had happened. He said that there seemed to be no reason. That the birth had gone so well. His face was streaked with tears. He had been crying. All the midwives and nurses who came in and looked after me were also crying and this continued into the next day.

My parents arrived after a couple of hours and we all spent some time together weeping. Glad took Oskar from my arms and laid him in a cot. Soon after I was taken to surgery. As I was wheeled out of the delivery room, I saw my father pick up my baby boy, his grandson, and cradle him, sobbing quietly. Glad came with me to pre-op and held my hand. I didn’t want to let go of him. I worried about him and I did not want to leave him.

Glad kept saying, “We’ve been through some things together haven’t we? This is the biggest. We’ll get through this too”. I think those were the first words that Glad said to me after we were told Oskar had died.

Slowly, slowly, the next morning I came round. I did not want to wake up. I called out for more morphine. The pain was unbearable, but it was not physical. The day seemed to last forever. Glad and my mother were always there with me. We had our own room. I asked for Oskar to be brought to me as soon as I was awake enough and we had him with us in the room for several hours. I spent a lot of time holding him and I cried and cried and cried and cried and cried. I cried when I held him. I cried when I put him down in the Moses basket, I cried as I slept. I cried until my eyes were hugely swollen and red and blistered and I could hardly open them. They hurt more than my bottom.

I felt my heart was breaking and my whole world was falling apart and I now I know what these expressions truly mean.

And I held Glad a lot too. He couldn’t cry but he looked devastated and somehow crumpled, like his insides had been taken away. I saw that it hurt him to see me with our dead baby boy in my arms. That he found it impossible to see me grieving in this way. That he wanted to take the hurt away. But he couldn’t and I had to. I so NEEDED to be with my baby and hold him. We were all so exhausted.

Nurses and midwives and doctors came and went. Eventually I had a bath, in which I passed out completely and Glad had to bring me round by slapping my face and holding me as I lay, pale and tired, in the blood stained water. I was bleeding a lot.

The hospital chaplain came and spoke gently with us and to my mother. He said he could do a christening. He left space for silence and said a prayer whilst making the sign of the cross on Oskar's smooth forehead. It was a forehead like mine.

The consultant came to see us and said they had no idea why Oskar had died. He said “Some people have a hundred years to live and some just a fraction of a second. Who is to say which life is more important?” And I was thankful for his honesty and for finding those words.

At about 4pm, I had to say goodbye to my little Oskar. There was just Glad and me and Oskar there. I held him just one more time. Glad gave him to me. I cried over him and felt his weight in my arms. I made his little face wet with my tears and had to wipe them gently away with my fingers. I made a tiny heart shape with my salty tears on his high smooth forehead and I kissed him once more and told him goodbye and that I loved him. Then I asked Glad to take him. Glad put him back in the Moses Basket and took him to the midwife. And then I sobbed…. I have never ever said such a painful goodbye and I hope I never will again.

Later more of my family came to the hospital and held and saw Oskar and finally at about 7pm we all came home. On the way home in the car I lay with my head on Glad’s lap in the back seat and my littlest brother Sam sang Come Down O Love Divine to me. I felt numb, broken and weary and so empty. Oskar’s body was sent away for autopsy.

The next days are now a blur to me. Many people came and went and looked after us and shared in our pain. Glad’s mother and youngest brother came to stay. If people couldn’t come they rang and if they couldn’t ring they sent flowers and cards. There were more and more flowers everyday and they began to fill the sitting room. There were so many tears. I felt that we were comforting all those around us as well as receiving comfort. We openly shared our pain with others and were thankful that there were people there who were willing to share. Mostly I sat and cried and slept and talked to all who visited. I told the story of Oskar’s birth a thousand times over and over. And at night I dreamt it again and again. When I closed my eyes during the day I had visions of falling through the stars, freely falling through bright constellations. After a week or so the stars began to fade and grew more misty.

On the second night I was home, I woke from a dream of Oskar at exactly midnight, sat up in bed and my breasts began to pour with milk, like a tap had just been turned on.

The next four days my breasts were swollen with milk and we used yoghurt poultices and frozen cabbage leaves to soothe the pain. I wrote at the time:
“My breasts suddenly filled with milk for you at exactly midnight Oskar. I know because I was awake. Milk pours from breasts, tears from my eyes, blood from my healing womb – all for you.”

That same night I had visions. I hardly slept all night. I saw Glad and myself in a dark place. There was a chink of long, thin light like an open doorway. Golden light, bright like the flame of a candle. And children’s faces appeared in this doorway one at a time and peeped in at us. They were all laughing and smiling and very curious. One in particular kept coming back. She was a little girl and she told me her name was Maari. She was very cheeky and she told me or showed me how naughty she can be. And then I began to see visions of her; her as a toddler and as a child and as a stroppy teenager and she is always mischievous and headstrong, flying off the handle and passionate and brave and it was as if she was asking me….. It felt as if Oskar had left the door open, on purpose and was somehow showing all these child beings Glad and I, his parents. He doesn’t need us in this way anymore. As I had this vision, I began to realise how much I already knew about this being we called Oskar. I felt his presence so strongly and I just knew and know that he is so gentle and kind and contented and compassionate and calm and centred and most of all, very loving. And when I came round from this vision at 3.30am I wrote it all down and especially the words that I knew described my Oskar. Since then I have been constantly surprised by the way these words have come back to me in the things people say and wrote about Oskar and the circumstances around his coming and going. It has been so strange.

Mornings were the hardest part. I would wake everyday to find him gone and my heart would break all over again. I missed so terribly those early morning moments that I had imagined between mother and baby. I wondered if that was why they called it “mourning”. I hurt with the knowledge that I will have to wake everyday for the rest of my days and know he is not with us.

It was beautiful weather and everything seemed so perfect. Painfully perfect yet totally wrong. Everything was wrong. I sat in the garden and cried at the flowers who dared to be so beautiful even when my babe was not there to see them and I wept at the sun for shining and at the sky for being so blue and clear. And time passed so slowly. Each second was like an hour. And much time was spent in silence, even with friends. Only very slowly did it begin to move again and quicken. Perhaps it will never catch up again and we are forever slowed down, just a little.

On the evening before the burial, my father and I went to the hospital to bring Oskar home. I took a white velvet suit with a hood for him to wear and Rolf brought the small beautiful pine coffin for Oskar to lie in, built by his grandfather and his uncles and lined with blue silk and finest sheep’s wool by his grandmother. I felt so calm bringing him home. A deep peace settled on me. I knew where his body was at last. He still looked so beautiful, surrounded by all the flowers and cards in the evening sunshine and later by candlelight. The other members of the family and Sarah, his Godmother, got to see him, to spend time with him and so did we. Glad and I wrote Oskar letters and placed them in the coffin with a large pink rose in his arms. I am so glad that we brought him home.

The funeral was on a soft grey Friday. All the family gathered at our house and we walked the small distance down to the graveyard. I asked my brother Luki, who had held him once before, to carry Oskar in his coffin. The twins, Freja and Sam carried baskets of flowers cut and prepared by Glad’s mother Linda and gave one to each person present to throw on the grave. There were so many people. I hadn’t expected it. Again there were many tears and many hugs. And as I stood there, clinging to Glad, I felt surrounded by a large circle of friends and loved ones and beyond them I felt the presence of a hundred more, further afield and across the world. I think of them all often, of that circle, when I visit the grave. I felt that Oskar was a tiny pebble thrown into a huge still pond and I could see so many great ripples. Our elder brothers placed Oskar into and filled in the tiny grave whilst Glad’s father, Davy and our friend Cathy sang a lullaby. Another friend, Roddy spoke of falling stars. Davy, as his grandfather, planted a magnolia tree for Oskar and Rolf, his other grandfather, spoke a poem in Swedish, My brother Tom read and played a tune on his recorder. People placed small unknown gifts to Oskar in the grave. The vicar said his bit and we all threw our flowers onto his coffin. Freja and Sam emptied the rest of the flowers onto the filled grave, and a friend brought strawberries and cherries to share around. Summer fruits for our summer baby. Afterwards was like a dream. We went to a pub by the river and I talked and shared from some distant place inside myself. It was a beautiful and very sad day. And now we have planted a dwarf rose bush at his feet with roses the same pink as the one he was buried with. The grave is covered with white quartz pebbles collected by Glad and I from the beach which we will keep adding to. There is a glass with stars on in which to burn candles and a pottery mobile of a bird that Margaret sent for him from America. Linda has sent a stone bowl that she carved which acts like a bird bath and sits under the magnolia tree. It is a place where I like to go often and spend just a little time.


I don’t know where to end this story, because it still continues…
I miss my little Oskar with an aching heart, but I feel deeply that all is as it should be. I am ever so slowly realising all that he has brought to us. He has brought us so much love. He has changed us forever in his swift visit and I am sure that it will be a long time before we know how true that is.

He will always be with me.

*A year later Oskar’s little sister was born healthy and alive and we have called her Anna-Loveday Maari.