016 the opposite of orphan

A phone-call¦ a dash to the hospital¦ a wait with hope¦a Paediatric Consultant¦ a wait without hope¦ a goodbye.

Three short hours and I am stepping into the hall of our family home, with the echo of your voice bouncing up the staircase. Is this still a family home ' without you¦?

I walk into the kitchen and flick the switch on the kettle, out of habit, rather than a desire for tea ' I have had too much tea, with too much sympathy. As I reach for a mug, cramps spasm through my stomach, I clasp my hands around my belly as the last vestiges of you are expelled, on rippling-ridges of pain. I lean forward, my hands slap-slammed on the counter. The contractions subside and I look down at the floor, panting - memories scatter at my feet. I fall to my knees and gather them up, but they slip through my fingers wet with tears. I get up, and finish the tea, walking into the lounge as if balancing books on my head. I reach for the remote, to silence the images that scroll across the screen; when I turned it on this morning, you were just upstairs, straightening your hair, I didn't need to see them then, you were just there, and now that I need them, I can't bear to look... but¦

What if¦. what if I switch it off now, and then later when I need to see, when I have to see you, it doesn't work. What happens when I have forgotten the shade of your hair in winter, when I've forgotten the exact shape of the birthmark under your left nostril, the precise position of the freckle on your chin? So many of the pictures, the ones I have added since, have no hard copy, no back up. Your dad had time to say goodbye, to put all our memories on the hard drive and wireless link them to the TV¦ we have been cheated you and me.

Someone will be round soon, if I just sit long enough, someone will be round to take over, to feed me, bathe me, and tuck me in. The nurse asked if there was anyone I wanted to phone, but the only two people I want to call can no longer hear me. So I said no, but news spreads, especially bad news. I sink into the chair, and watch memories fade, in and out, blinks of time, over before the camera shutter has even done.

You in your first school uniform ' your smile too big for your face, we said you would grow into it, your smile, but you haven't and I am glad. Your dad and me on the beach, you took the picture¦ one of your favourites you always said, because you reckoned that you could see our love for each other as plain as day, in the halo of sun around our shoulders. I said it was a trick of the camera, you disagreed ' I like your explanation better ' I shouldn't have said anything.

You got wires coming out¦ you got wires going into your skin¦down corridors, through¦ automatic doors, try to get to you, try to see this through..

I had set the music to play alongside the pictures, the last song must have had a long tail¦ your dad said that it would annoy us, when he set it up, but he ran out of time to dock the ends of the songs. It reminds me of that time when your dad bought me my first Robbie Williams CD, and it was just us two in the flat, your dad was at work. And suddenly Robbie Williams started reciting a poem, and for a delicious moment I thought he was in the lounge, you were only four ' you cried and I laughed at my stupidity, then I gathered you in my arms and we danced to "Angels.

I see it in your eyes¦ you'll be all right¦down corridors, through¦

The song makes that ache in the back of my throat almost unbearable, but it is not time to cry, I have things to do first, before someone comes and takes over. I let the words wash over me, and through me, I mustn't take my eyes off the screen.

You and your friends, only last week, on the trampoline, I took the picture to record the cusp, from child to adult ' the three of you with 12-year-old grins and already blossoming bodies ' now you will always be in between.

I slam my fist into the arm of the chair, I wanted you to fall in love, to make love, to make life¦

I wish I believed in heaven, then you would be with your dad. Maybe we should have had more than one, another child, to cushion the blow ' I can't imagine it would make any difference. You don't divide love, you just find more. The three of us on holiday in Spain ' you are nine, we are happy. You and me in London at the Tate ' I remember that school play in Year 4, when you were Maid Marion and you belted out that song in perfect harmony with the choir ' and everyone said you should be a singer, but I knew you wanted to be an artist or fashion designer. Your dad wanted you to train for the Olympics ' 2012 ' you were going to go together to the opening ceremony.

Maybe you will, if there is a heaven.

The sun is sliding behind the house; the lounge dimming, it must be getting on for teatime. There is a barbeque somewhere near, I can smell the burgers and the warm sweet giggles of little girls. Someone will be round soon. I know what I must do; I must back up these memories, every single precious one. I can't bear to lose a single moment, a single smile¦ the soft down on your face¦ the mole on your right sole...

I get up knocking the cold tea across the arm of the chair. Where did your dad keep his read-write CD's? I rummage in the desk drawer and chew the side of my lip as I try recall your dad's voice telling me how to copy; blood drips onto the keyboard. Control shift ' that's it ' now I just need to open the CdRom drive¦ is it E or D¦ D ' then paste. The photo's fly from one folder to another, 20 minutes remaining. I swivel in the chair and keep up my vigil¦

I've used up all of the CD's, but they are not enough ' there are hundreds more pictures on the hard drive ' I need more CD's. Your dad would be tearing his hair out ' he'd be saying something about Ziplock and using a memory stick ' but I don't have one and I don't know how to Ziplock ' he always said I never listened, he was right. I must go and get some more CD's, but if I go out, there might be a power cut and then the photos might disappear. As long as I am looking at the screen - they will be safe.

When someone gets here I can ask them to get me some CD's ' people always do what you ask when you are grieving ' however silly the request. Do you remember just after Daddy died, I asked Helen to go and buy me wine gums ' I opened the packets and left them all round the house for weeks. The sweet smell reminding us of his favourite sweet ' I keep some in the car now, though I still hate the taste.

Now; I must watch every photo and remember it, so that later when I check the CD's I will know if anything is missing. Someone will be here soon, to comfort me. I don't need comforting, I need CD's, I have got through before, I can do it again - except last time I had you.

How could she, Sophie, in Sophie's choice; how could she carry on¦living¦ after having to choose, between daughter and son, which one would live, which one would die. I always wondered, did she choose her son in order to save her daughter from all that pain, or did she save her son because she loved him more. No¦ love just gets bigger ' you don't have to divide.

With your daddy, there was time for goodbyes ' time to appreciate him. Being knocked down by a car, is unjust, unfair, but then life isn't fair, is it ' what were our last words this morning? ' probably ' 'be back by five and take your phone.' I don't remember whether I told you, I love you more, today. You know how it goes, 'I love you mum.' 'I love you more.' Not that it matters; you knew how much I loved you... love you.

'I love you more, my honey.'
There¦ said it today, just in case.

Someone's coming I can hear their car outside ' it's Helen, I knew it would be. I hope your grandma and granddad are ok, someone will phone them, probably already have. I'm glad it is not them ' I am not strong enough for their grief ' not yet¦ will I ever be?

What am I now? I was a widow¦ what is the word for it¦ the opposite of orphan¦? What do you call someone who has lost a child?