We were looking forward to welcoming our new son David in to the world on, or about, Sept 27th 2012. We’d felt him moving around on the Saturday before this and Gemma started having contractions that evening. The next morning we realised that we hadn’t felt any movement and so went to Epsom hospital to get it checked out. It was with enormous shock and disbelief that we were told there was no heartbeat and that he had died sometime in the last 24 hours. After a briefly returning home to pray with a friend we returned to the hospital for Gemma to be induced. He was born on Monday 24th Sept at 1:20 pm.

His loss has left a big hole in our lives. It may be I’ll be able to write more fully on it at a later stage, but for now I just want to reproduce the letters that Gemma and I wrote to him.

Here is my letter:

‘Dear David

I’m so sorry that you had to leave just before we finally got to meet. There was so much that we missed out on. I wanted to see your eyes, hear your laugh, take you to the cinema, play Frisbee, build sandcastles, teach you to ride a bike.

There’s so much I’d like to know about you too, son. Were you going to be tall? Perhaps you were going to take after your mother and be good at sports – I’m afraid I wouldn’t have been much good at kicking a ball around with you, but perhaps if you’d taken to cycling I might have kept you honest for a bit! Maybe you were going to take after me and enjoy fiddling with computers. I wonder if you were going to have dark hair or fair. I’m sure your sister, Elspeth, would have provided you with lots of entertainment: I think you’d have liked her.

There are many painful things in the world that we would have done our best – and sometimes failed – to protect you from. But there are also so many beautiful things I won’t now get to show you: birds singing, wind rustling in trees, waterfalls, mountains, rain falling from a blue sky, the glory of the heavens, hot chocolate when you come in from the cold, singing God’s praises and, most of all, the love of a parent.

There’s so much I don’t know about you. The only thing I’m sure of is that you would have been very loved. And that we’ll never forget you. In years to come I am sure the memory will fade and the pain will lessen but you will always be our firstborn and always have a special place in our hearts. On that day when all sorrows cease and we finally get to meet face to face I’ll tell you that in person, my precious son.

With all my love

Your Dad’

Here is Gemma’s letter:

”My precious little David

I am sitting here a week after I saw you and it seems so long ago. It’s less than 10 days ago that I felt you moving around inside me and I was so excited because I thought I was going to meet you in a few short hours and we were going to start to get to know each other.

I didn’t know how much I wanted you until I lost you, until there was no hope. How I wanted and prayed that the hospital staff had got it wrong and that you were alive and kicking and ready to come out to face the world.

I will never forget that moment when she put you against me and I held you for the first time. You were so beautiful and my heart was bursting with love for you. You looked so peaceful, like you were asleep. I wonder if you’d have stayed like that or given us many sleepless nights. I wonder if you’d have been a tearaway or a little angel. Only God knows the answers to that.

I will treasure those few hours that we had together, the time I had to hold you and kiss you, to be with you.

I know that you are safe and happy now, David. I know that you are with Jesus and that I will see you again.

Until that time, David, I will treasure those moments we had together as mother and son. And know, my beautiful son, that I will love you always.

With all my love