Oh, my Little Leo

It’s two days until Leo’s funeral. That feeling of reality and apprehension is setting in. Similar to the day before we had to go back to the hospital. Fear. We are reading a letter each, and when looking for a poem, nothing said it like I wanted to say it. So I wrote this little poem. Surely not prize winning, but I didn’t write it for that. I wrote it for me, for him.

How do you actually wake up one morning and bury your child, and in the same day, leave him to rest and carry on walking?


Oh, my little Leo,

Why did you have to go?

Why didn’t you just ask for help?

We would have done anything, surely you must know.


Oh, my little Leo,

We have fought for you for so long,

You’ve given us so much love and pride,

But we’d do anything to change this, to stop it going wrong.


Oh, my little Leo,

A strong, brave man you would have been.

For your mummies would have cherished you, and would have sure the world was seen.


Oh, my little Leo

You’ve given us your legacy to protect,

And that that our lives are forever changed,

We will always be in your debt.


Sleep well, my little Leo,

Rise about like the Phoenix that you are

Give us the strength to carry on living

And know

That with every smile we make

Our hearts also ache.


I know fear is worse than reality, we will get through it, just like we have done already. Is burying your child worse than finding out his heart has stopped? Worse than preparing to deliver him, sleeping?Worse than realising you love for him is so much greater than your sadness for him, because no matter how sad you are, you love him more?

Is there anything worse than this? Please, tell me this is it. The worst life can get. I need to know that the future is better than this. 

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2 thoughts on “Oh, my Little Leo

  1. It feels wrong to ‘like’ this but I wanted to show my support.

    I hope the funeral goes as well as it can and that you have the love and support you will need on the day and beyond.

    I can’t speak for you, your experience will be yours and yours alone – something that is both a comfort and terrible all at the same time – but following the funeral was a strange time for us. Everything up until that point had been to get to the funeral (organising, visiting the venue, picking the music) with little thought of what would follow. The day after was just blankly staring at each other and saying ‘now what?’.

    If you have the strength I suggest (and it is no more than that) that you try and have something to look forward to or work towards like a short break or visit good friends but with the option of a safe bolthole.

    Wishing you all the best.

    Like

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