Baby Oisín | Meningitis Information - Know the Warning Signs and Symptoms

When last we saw you smiling

you looked so bright and well

Little did we know that day

Was to be our last farewell

Find the softest pillow Lord

to rest his head upon

place a kiss upon his cheek

and tell him who it's from

At 10.40 that Monday morning, in Crumlin Children's Hospital, they told to to prepare ourselves for the worst. At the time, the reality of the situation didn't register with us. We thought there was still hope. And that's what I hung on to. An hour later all hope went out the window. Everyone around was crying but I was numb and in shock, one part of me wanting to mentally fall to my knees and scream, sob and shout that this can't be happening to us. The other part in complete disbelief that this was happening. The reality started to hit home when we had to take Oisín off the Life support system. Peter went down to the hospital shop to buy a little teddy to put long side Oisín and then we had to go and orgainse a funeral.

Those initial hours I just remembering silently crying but screaming inside that this can't be happening, shouting internally to myself - "wake up stop the nightmare, wake up" but I wasn't asleep and having a nightmare I was at the start of a nightmare that I would never wake up from.

Sunday morning Sept 8th 2002 I was the mother of two beautiful boys, Monday morning Sept 9th I was burying my baby. My identity had gone overnight, I no longer had two beautiful boys. I remember people telling me I had a beautiful angel now in heaven, I wanted to shout at them, "I don't fucking want an angel". I wanted Oisín with me now, I wanted him here, I wanted to see what he's like, I waned to hold him and touch him and smell him and I just want him here with me in my arms.

I'll never forget holding him for that one last time, I remember thinking to myself this is not my baby, this is not Oisín. Where is my baby, this is not him. We put some of his favourite toys in the coffin with him, as we couldn't bear the thought of him being alone. We kissed him one last time and closed the coffin. Even at that point I felt like I was living in two different realms. There was one part of my brain that was still in disbelief that none of this was happening

We decided to bury Oisín in Derry where Peter comes from as his father (Oisín's granddad) had picked a beautiful plot for him. Strange as it seems, I thought everyday there would be someone that would stop by his grave and say hello. On the day of his funeral we had mass in Clane and then left for the drive to Derry. We didn't want a hearse so we laid Oisín on the back seat of the car in his tiny white coffin. As we were getting closer to Derry I remember thinking to myself, "I can just hop in the back seat and open the coffin to hold Oisín one last time". I know Peter couldn't stop me because he was driving. Then I thought, "God no Juliet, if anyone ever heard you did that they'd think you were mad". But I just wanted to hold him, I just wanted to kiss him one last time and it was slowly sinking in I was never going to get the chance to do that. I was starting to acknowledge that I would never feel his arms round my neck or him pulling my hair and pulling at my earrings. The funeral was a blur. I remember thinking I'll never see you again. And thinking I just want to die now too.

Six or seven weeks later the anger finally exploded. I was in the kitchen and I must have smashed everything I could get my hands on. I was shouting at God, "why, my Oisín, why did you have to take him?". Then I remember being on my hands and knees and I'm begging him to give me back my baby, give me back my Oisín. I didn't care if he'd lost fingers and toes, I didn't care if he was deaf or brain damaged. I just wanted him back. That was the start of my grieving process, but I wouldn't talk to anyone about it , I didn't know how to put how I felt into words. If anyone is reading this I would recommend you seek counselling , I never did and until I learned to accept what had happened I experienced some very dark days.

I remember for years I was eaten up by feelings of guilt and uselessness, "why did I allow this to happen". For so many years I blamed myself. I thought I had killed him because I didn't do enough to save him. I now know and accept that at the time I did what I could. But I don't think the guilt will ever leave me. For about a year after Oisín was buried, if I could have stood over his grave 24 hrs a day, 7 days a week I would have done so.