Now for the sad stuff

JC was such a joy to be with. We had our moments where we weren't friends but they were few and far between. Overall he did as he was asked, he was cheeky but not naughty and it was rare I had to reprimand him. We went to playgroups, toy library, visited people we'd met who had children and generally filled our days together. Only on Saturday mornings did I work at my father's business so JC was pretty much my world. His father, my husband worked all week and played sport most weekends. He had a side job gardening on Sundays so it was mostly just JC and I. We were content with that.



Christmas arrived. Our third with JC and the first that he would really enjoy I felt. He was taking a real interest in the Christmas trees and lights appearing all over the place and I knew he'd love unwrapping gifts. We generally had Christmas lunch at my parents home and my husband drove my grandparents there while I drove our car. This eased the pressure on my Grandmother as my Grandfather was not permitted to drive due to the damage caused by his stroke. After lunch we generally then went to my in-laws home for tea and my husband would drive my Grandparents that far leaving only half the home trip for my Grandmother to deal with. This had worked well for the previous three years and was planned again for this Christmas with one small change. My in-laws were at their holiday house on the peninsula so we would be going down there for tea and my Grandmother would drive her car all the way home instead of part of the way. As usual my mother was late with lunch, she's perpetually late so none of us ever plan to eat early when dining with my parents. We did presents and had lunch then I helped my mother clean up while JC and my only nephew played in the lounge, my Grandparents and sister's were in there watching them and my husband, my brother and my foster brother had all gone outside for a cigarette. I think my father was having a nap.

No-one is quite sure what happened but somehow JC, now a little over 2 and his cousin, a little over 3, managed to go outside without an adult. There were suddenly panicked voices, seemingly everywhere. I could hear my brother yelling and I walked up the hallway to the front door to see what was happening. My husband grabbed m e and refused to let me go outside. After a minute or two arguing he let go of me and I walked outside to pandemonium. JC had been discovered in my parents swimming pool. My foster brother had retrieved JC and he and my father were doing rescuitation. Someone had called an ambulance. In the distance we could hear sirens. I watched as my son lay on the concrete, seemingly dead and there was nothing I could do. I felt an eerie calmness within me. I wanted to scream and cry but I knew that panicking would not help my son live but remaining calm might. Slowly the sirens came closer, my parents dogs started to howl with them and finally an ambulance appeared in my parents driveway. Eventually 3 ambulances would arrive. The ambulance men took over from my father and asked who was the mother of JC. When I answered I was they seemed surprised, they had taken one of my sister's for the mother, I suppose because she was crying and wailing whilst I was not. After a time JC was on a stretcher, stabilized and was to be taken to hospital. My husband and I left in our car and drove to the Royal Childrens to wait for our son. It seemed like forever before the ambulance arrived, apparently they had to stop several times to work on JC again. At some point it occurred to me that my in-laws needed to know we wouldn't be coming down and that their grandson was heading to hospital. They didn't have a phone on at their holiday house and mobile phones were the stuff of science fiction still. A police office was given the task of locating my in-laws and giving them this earth shattering news.

Our son was admitted to intensive care for the second time in his life. I sat and waited, wondering how long before I could hold my son in my arms again. I knew there was nothing I could do but allow the medical staff time to do their best to save my son but I ached to be there, holding him, helping in any way I could so I would not feel so useless and empty. I chain smoked and wished I was a drinker. I cried buckets of tears and silently prayed for a miracle. Eventually someone came to tell us we could go in to see JC. We were warned that he was a mess of tubes and wires. We were told the functions of the machines keeping him alive while he was assessed. He was on an artificial respirator, heart monitor, and so many other machines there seemed to be almost nothing of JC to be seen. The worst part of all the wires and machines was the shunt they had put into relieve the pressure in his brain. You cannot imagine how desperately helpless you feel when your child's life hangs in the balance. It is something I would never wish upon anyone, even someone I hated and if I could save someone that grief and despair I would go through all mine again for them. No parent should have to see their child like that.

The hospital has some rooms available for people who didn't live in Melbourne and who had children in the hospital. As it was quiet I was allowed the use of one of the rooms so I didn't have to leave JC. I spent the next ten days in that hospital, almost never seeing the sun. My husband spent as much time as he could there with me which was almost every waking moment he wasn't at work. Family and friends called in to spend short amounts of time with us, they gave us gifts for JC wishing him to recover. We spent New Years eve there, crying and trying to convince ourselves that our son would live. I would spend my days sitting beside JC's bed, holding his hand, watching the monitors for signs that he was improving. Watching the monitors on the other children and hoping they might live, often knowing they would die. We watched other parents in their despair lashing out at each other, desperately seeking a way to stop their pain. We were told that almost no marriages survive the death of a child. We hoped that we would not have to find out the truth of that.

As each day passed there seemed less chance that JC would survive. After ten days JC's doctors approached us and told us there was no chance of recovery and they would like permission to turn off life support. What a decision. I was 20 years old and being asked to decide if I could allow my son to die. My husband was barely 22. Could we make that choice?

We were both devasated by what had befallen our son but with remarkable clarity I knew that to refuse permission to turn off life support would be wrong. I did not have the right to keep JC alive if he was not meant to be. If he was supposed to live then he would. My emotions wanted me to deny permission, to maintain the tenuous link to ife that JC had but I knew that in doing so I would condemn us all to a living hell. Our beloved and beautiful son would become a burden to us, visiting him would become a chore and resentment would build as we waited for the inevitable. I wanted to love my son forever, not to resent him and not to watch him wither away on a hospital bed. I gave him life and now I would allow him his death. While it hurt me, and still does to this day, to say goodbye I know I made the right choice and have never regretted it. My husband and I talked about my thoughts and we agreed to allow the machines to be switched off.

We told the Doctors of our decision and they agreed that the next morning, Jan 3rd, the life support would be switched off. My memories here are very clouded. I know my husband would have spent the day with me however I cannot recall him there at all. I remember sitting with my son in my arms through the day, reading him stories, stroking his soft, blonde hair. Consigning his face to memory. I cradled him in my arms as his breathing slowed and eventually, in the early evening stopped. With one last sigh, my son died. And my heart broke in a million tiny pieces.