A Remembering Day.

Today is Friday 5 June. Twenty-eight years ago, this day was also a Friday. But, instead of being sunny and pleasant, as it is today in Heavenly Beverley, it was a particularly cold, wet and very bleak day indeed.

About this time, twenty-eight years ago, I had just arrived at Princess Margaret Hospital for Children in Perth. I'd been to a morning tea and had just dropped Vanessa, who was eighteen months old, at the Childcare Centre. I was en route to the brand new Neonatal Unit, where my first born son was fighting for his life.

I can see the shiny new fittings. I can smell the unmistakable odours of an intensive care unit. I watched the staff coming towards me as I walked in the doors. No mobile phones then.

I asked if Christopher was going to die that day. The answer was yes. Final. He'd spent all the forty-eight days of his life cheating death. Somehow, he'd always been able to successfully fight death. Born nine weeks early, with a massively complicated heart defect, premature lungs, a metabolic disorder and another syndrome, he had come back from the brink time and time again. But not this time.

The staff had disconnected Christopher from all the equipment except his ventilator. So, I held this little scrap of humanity, my son, for the next five hours. Next to his humidicrib in Neonates, surrounded by the others who had cared for him and loved him. And his eyes watched me, for every second of those last hours of his life. I had become Christopher's Mum at last.

My then husband arrived as darkness fell. I immediately handed Christopher to him to hold as they disconnected his ventilator. I have regretted that action ever since. But regrets are ultimately futile.

Christopher died in the arms of his Dad. We then had the first chance to really parent him. We bathed him and dried him and dressed him. We checked his perfect fingers and toes. Suddenly, he was beautiful.

The ensuing days, weeks and months were dreadful. I had a twin stillbirth nine months later. Zoe and Melanie went straight to heaven to join their brother. I longed for a live baby, not to replace the others. I just wanted a baby who was pink and stayed.

Almost exactly two years after Christopher's birth, Callum Timothy arrived. Naturally by emergency caesarian. But he was pink and he stayed. He provided me with the most incredible joy and fulfilment I'd never believed would be mine again. He is now a handsome, agreeable, energetic and empathetic young man of twenty-six.

I had one more surprise two years later. Alex Christopher arrived with much fanfare and drama. He was born with a complex heart defect, dodgy lungs and then developed Autism, diagnosed at the age of four. Alex has grown into another spectacular young man. Our autistic superstar.

Having Alex was like being given Christopher all over again. I genuinely believe that my youngest son has the soul of my older brother. Not that Alex isn't his own person. He just has two souls.

So, today is a remembering day. Lots of memories. Some sadness. A few tears. The girls are in my heart as well. If I close my eyes, I can see my twin daughters playing in the trees at Pinnaroo Memorial Park, which is their home. With Christopher. And the kangaroos for extra company.