The Story of Curtis Charlie Rose

“You’re not ready to really live until you believe in something worth dying for…”

"Our dear wee Curtis, what plans we had for you,

watching you grow up with our other two,

things snatched away from us,

before we even got a chance.”

But we never owned you little one,

We never shared the miracle of your laughter,

never saw you ride high and proud on your father’s shoulders,

We were but guardians of your growth,

Housing your body, but not your soul.

Go gently Curtis,

Go in peace little one.

Love from Mummy and Daddy

This poem was being read out at my third son’s funeral in October 2000. I felt like I was looking down from above, seeing our baby in the tiny coffin, his eyes closed tightly shut. Seeing my husband and I standing there numb, people all around us crying. Our two boys aged 19 months and 3 years sitting quietly, trying to understand.

You see, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. Instead of writing poems for a funeral, I was supposed to be writing a birth notice welcoming Curtis into the world. The friends that were in the church crying, were supposed to be visiting us bearing gifts and well wishes for our baby. My husband and I weren’t supposed to be numb with disbelief, we were supposed to be proudly bringing our son home from hospital. My breasts weren’t supposed to be swollen, painful and leaking, they were supposed to be feeding our baby.

My husband and I had decided to stop at two children, we had two beautiful boys and realistically couldn’t “afford” to have another. I was starting to think about getting back to work.

And then one day, we just admitted to each other, that we would both love to have one more child. It was kind of like an extra special present we would give one another. And so we threw caution to the wind, and Curtis was conceived.

At our 18 week scan, we found out our baby was a boy, and we already had his name picked out. I felt a little sad for the baby girl we would never have, but mostly I fell in love with our third and much wanted boy and couldn’t wait for him to be born. I was still so very clucky.

The pregnancy progressed uneventfully. It was very tiring with two young boys running around, and by 39 weeks I was ready to “have this baby”.

Around 39 weeks, I had been having trouble sleeping and thought I was going into labour. I walked around the house and lay on the couch. The time was 4.am. I told myself, “something is wrong, this baby is too still”. I then told myself to relax and stop being “neurotic” and drifted into an exhausted sleep. When my husband awoke in the morning, I told him I wasn’t happy with things, and that once I had gone back to bed and slept (I was exhausted after approx 1 hr sleep overnight) I was ringing the midwife.

Of course my midwife told me to come into hospital so she could monitor the baby. I met her at hospital after driving myself in (my husband had to stay at home with our other children).

The nightmare begins here – the moment our midwife failed to pick up a heartbeat on the monitor my life changed forever. I will remember that moment always. I let out a big shuddering breath and felt my body go numb from the legs up. One thing I will always remember is a nurse who was sitting with me placed her hand on my abdomen, and this was incredibly comforting – the human touch.

My husband was rung and immediately came in and a scan confirmed what I already knew. Our baby had died.

It was a Sunday night and the Specialist on duty at the hospital was just finishing a 24 hour shift. It was decided I would to go home and come back to hospital at 8:00 am the next morning for induction. I was too numb to argue, but it was the worst feeling to know our baby was dead in my womb.

After a sleepless night, we drove again into hospital. Induction was started, and labour commenced that afternoon. At 11.00pm I delivered Curtis. My husband, father, sister and brother-in-law were present. I remember thinking whilst in labour that this was by far the worst thing anyone could experience. This was more than I could cope with, and that I didn’t want any more children.

Curtis looked perfect, except he wasn’t breathing and his face was a purple blotchy colour. He looked like our first boy Nicholas. He weighed 7 pounds and 14 ounces. I didn’t know what to do, was I supposed to cuddle this baby? But he wasn’t alive. I wanted the others to hold him so I could just look at him.

We stayed in a special room in the hospital and Curtis stayed with us in the room. The next morning they wheeled him away after covering his face. I guess that was so the other expectant mothers wouldn’t see him.

It was the saddest thing, my husband and I driving home empty handed that morning.

I was numb and sort of in a trance for the next few days, but the funeral was organised and we had wonderful support from friends and family. We drove from the church to the cemetery with Curtis in his tiny coffin on my knee. The children let balloons off at his burial that was lovely as it was a clear blue sky and very appropriate for babies, we felt.

I have spent many hours at that place since. When it first happened, if I was ever driving in the direction of the cemetery, I would get a pain in my chest. I felt like there was a magnet pulling me towards the cemetery. I used to take the children to the cemetery every day. Slowly I have “weaned” myself to once a week, and now it’s more like once a month.

We now have a headstone for Curtis that helped us “move forward” a bit. Its lovely and has a teddy and coloured balloons on it, with some beautiful words from our family.

The pain of losing Curtis is still as deep as the day it happened. It doesn’t go away or get easier, I think you just learn to live with it. For me personally, it feels like I am walking around with a part of me missing, and I know that when my time comes, I will be comforted knowing I will see him again.

Well that’s the story of Curtis Charlie Rose 16/10/00-16/10/00. To us he will always be part of our family and he changed our lives forever. He was very wanted and very precious to us. I have a photo of him in each of the children’s baby books so they have a record of their brother. I wear his “birth gemstone” on a chain around my neck. Somehow I feel part of him is still with me when I wear it.

There are no “happy endings” to stories such as this.

But here’s the closest our family has to one:-