A ROUTE MAP, OF SORTS, THROUGH GRIEF

Four years ago, every parent's worst nightmare became our reality.

- By Ruth Schonegevel

There are some babies who come into the world saying, 'What time do you want me to wake up?' and others who arrive saying, 'Who's in charge here?!'

We were blessed with one of each. Amy, our eldest, the former, and Nicholas most definitely the latter.

Nic was born on a Sunday morning; I had to wait in the labour ward until the gynae had finished at church for him to be delivered. He was eager to arrive and that waiting period seemed like an eternity, but it was all worth it. He was a beautiful baby, with huge blue eyes and soft, downy blond hair, perfect in every way. Energetic and inquisitive right from the start, he didn't want to waste much time sleeping. I was up with him at night a lot, and around that time I read the Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver, where she writes about her last baby. It really resonated with me in such a powerful way.

'But the last one, the baby who trails her scent like a flag of surrender through your life when there will be no more coming after - oh that's love by a different name. She is the babe you hold in your arms for an hour after she's gone to sleep. If you put her down in the crib, she might wake up changed and fly away. So instead you rock by the window, drinking the light from her skin, breathing her exhaled dreams... She is the one you can't put down.'

Even then, this passage made me realise how precious those nighttime wake-ups were as I knew he would be our last child.

Nic grew into the most beautiful boy and then young adult – bright and cheerful, with a strong sense of self and what he wanted, a real individual not swayed too much by what others thought. We were close, the four of us, living at the tip of Africa with no other family around. When we were together, it was a party. We travelled and adventured in South Africa and around the world together, choosing experiences and travel rather than superfluous material things.