Hi Lily, I am quite new to MN and have only just discovered this thread and have just sat and read it all the way through. I'm so so sorry for the loss of your lovely boy Paddy - he sounds such a likeable and lovely person from everything you have said and his loss was a true tragedy. I guess I was drawn to your thread because I can relate to a lot of what you have said. I lost my first son 18 years ago - different circumstances but the shock, grief and aftermath you have described sound so familiar.
My baby was diagnosed with Congenital Diaphragmatic Hernia at 34 weeks gestation which meant his lungs were not fully developed and he would be unable to breathe on his own. We had no idea until then having had a completely normal pregnancy, and it sent us reeling. From then until the birth we became a 'case study' and a 'high risk birth' with a specialist team allocated so I was monitored, given steroid injections etc and the night he was born was like something out of ER with a full resuscitation team on standby. He suffered a collapsed lung immediately and they did not expect him to survive the night but he battled on, for 4 days on a ventilator then onto ECMO (Extra Corporeal Membrane Oxygenation)when his condition deteriorated. He remained on that for 4 weeks during which I could hold his hand, touch and talk to him, but he was never stable enough to take him out of the incubator to hold him. But I know he knew I was there - his heart rate and blood pressure, which were both too high, came down when I spoke to him or touched him. They also let him wake up so I saw him awake and have pictures of him looking right at the camera. The roller coaster of emotions I experienced during that time was like nothing else I had ever known - if he had a good day so did I, but if he had a bad day I was inconsolable. He had the most fantastic and dedicated medical team looking after him, and they tried a new treatment showing promising results in the USA with our permission. Just as I was beginning to let myself believe he might pull through although I knew it would be a long haul, he got septicaemia and the doctors said there was nothing more they could do as he was heading for complete organ failure. We had him christened the next day before the life support was turned off and he passed away peacefully in my arms at 4 weeks and 5 days old- that was the first time I ever held him. The pain and grief of that day remain with me and I remember feeling my life was over. As we drove home from the hospital I was aware of people going about their everyday lives and thinking how could they when our lives had just been shattered.
In the weeks and months that followed I experienced everything you have described. The grief was crushing and I must have cried not rivers but oceans of tears. I was not suicidal, but I did go to bed on numerous occasions hoping I would not wake up in the morning. I was exhausted but slept little, and everyone was worried about me. I went to the grave every day for 2 weeks and sat on the ground sobbing until my husband asked me to stop as he didn't think it was doing me any good. The first Christmas was so hard - I did nothing. I did not send any cards, any that we received were left in an unopened pile in the kitchen and no tree went up. If I could have I would have shut myself away for the whole of December. I had been put on anti depressants but had to stop when I became pregnant again - we hadn't actively planned another pregnancy but had decided to let nature take its course so we didn't do anything to prevent it. After an anxious pregnancy I had another son a year later who is now 17 and a healthy strapping young man who I adore and thank God every day for giving me him but I still don't understand why He had to take my other boy away and I guess I never will though I have kind of made my peace with it now. I look at boys his age now and wonder what he would have been like - would he have been a slightly older version of his brother? Family events are hard - Christmases, a family wedding, my dad's 75th birthday last year - as he is missing and the family is not complete. Your post of 7 June 'where is my boy. I want my three boys. Not just two' is exactly the way I feel. I want my two boys. His 18th birthday this year was so hard and I'm not quite sure how I got through it - I cried pretty much all day and felt my heart was being ripped out all over again. He should be on the brink of the next stage of his life, not buried nearby. I don't want him there, I want him with me and his brother. I worry about him being alone and cold. I still talk to him, ask him to keep an eye on his brother, and I still say goodnight to him. Every year I book his birthday and anniversary off work as I am a wreck and can't concentrate anyway. The grief does become less raw over time but only because you couldn't survive if it didn't. You can learn to smile again and most of the time life goes on but now and again something hits a raw nerve and you're left in a sobbing heap.
Lily your thread and all the replies (esp yours Mojito) have really touched my heart and I guess that's why I've opened mine to you. I don't know why these kinds of tragedies happen - it's not the natural order of things - our kids should bury us not the other way round. You will have some lovely memories of your boy and in time they will bring you some comfort. Think of all the daft or kind things he did, the times he made you laugh and remember he knew you loved him. I appreciate my son so much - he's kind and thoughtful and he makes me laugh every single day and I never let a day go by without telling him I love him. I wish he could have met his brother though. As for my first boy - his name was Scott by the way - he was a fighter and I'm proud to be his mum. I can tell you are rightfully proud of Paddy and I hope you can find some peace eventually. Take care